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THE SHIP 

A PLAY IN THREE ACTS 



By 
ST. JOHN G. ERVINE 

NOVELS 

Mrs, Martin's Man 
Alice and a Family 
Changing Winds 
The Foolish Lovers 

PLAYS 

Mixed Marriage 

The Magnanimous Lover 

Jane Clegg 

John Ferguson 



THE SHIP 

A PLAY IN THREE ACTS 



BY 

ST. JOHN G. ERVINE 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
1922 

All rights reserved 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



^<%- 



Copyright, 1922, 
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY 



Set up and printed. Published May, 1922. 



Press of 

J. J. Little & Ives Company 

New York, U. S. A. 



MAY 1 7 1922 

0)CI.A674142 



To 
FLORENCE LAMONT 



I wish to express my gratitude to Major 
W. A. SiMNETT, M.B.E., Royal Engineers, for 
the assistance he gave me in connexion with 
technical details of shipbuilding. 



THE FIRST ACT 

A room in John Thurlow's country-house, near the 
shipbuilding town of Biggport. 



THE SECOND ACT 
The living-room of Jack Thurlow's farm. 

THE THIRD ACT 

Scene I. Same as Act I. 

Scene II. A corner of the garden of John Thur- 
low's country-house. 

Scene III. Same as Scene I. 

Five months elapse between Acts I and II; three 
months between Acts II and III; five days between 
Scene I and Scene II, Act III ; and a few hours be- 
tween Scene II and Scene III, Act III. 

The period is the immediate future. 



CHARACTERS 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. 

John Thurlow, her son, a shipbuilder. 

Janet, his wife. 

Jack, his son. 

Hester, his daughter. 

Captain Cornelius. 

George Norwood. 

Maid. 



ACT ONE 



THE FIRST ACT 

The time is a Saturday afternoon in autumn, and the 
scene is laid in John Thurlow's country-house, 
chosen by him because it is easily accessible from 
his shipyard at Bigg port. The room is hand- 
somely furnished, without being conspicuously 
artistic, for the Thurlows are people of taste, 
conventional, perhaps, but not without the signs 
of well-marked individuality. Prominently dis- 
played in the room are models of ships, one of a 
sixteenth-century mun-of-war in full sail, the other 
of a quadruple-screw, coal-fed Atlantic liner of 
the type of the ''Titanic." The pictures are mainly 
of industrial subjects, and Mr. Thurlow is proud, 
and justly proud, of his excellent collection of 
etchings by Mr. Muirhead Bone, some of which 
represent scenes in the Biggport shipyard. If 
we could see into the dining-room, we should dis- 
cover large frescoes in the modern manner, show- 
ing the building of a ship from the laying of its 
keel to the time when it is ready to take its trial 
trip. 

The long windows leading to the garden are open, 

because the day is unexpectedly mild, and Old 

Mrs. Thurlow, who is seated by the fire, likes 

the windows to be open whenever possible. She 

3 



4 The Ship 

is an old woman, aged eighty-three, but she has 
no intention of yielding to her years. She can 
still read without glasses and her hearing is acute. 
People exclaim at her resistance to the infirmities 
of age, and Mr. Cobain, the Vicar, seldom omits 
to say that she is a wonderfully well-preserved old 
lady, a compliment zvhich she hardly appreciates 
in those words because, so she says, it makes her 
feel like jam. 
Her daughter-in-law, Janet Thurlow, or Young 
Mrs. Thurlow, a^ she is sometimes called 
to distinguish her from her mother-in-law, is 
seated by the tea-table on the other side of the 
fire, but not in such a position as to obscure Old 
Mrs. Thurlow's view of the garden. A Maid 
is placing a tea-tray on the table, and Janet Thur- 
low is supervising the operation. Young Mrs. 
Thurlow is a soft, pliable luoman, with one belief 
most firmly held, that happiness is only to be 
obtained in this world, and probably in the next, 
by those who never ''make a fuss" about any- 
thing. She hates ''bother,'' and successfully 
aruoids it by rarely offering opposition to any one, 
and then only to a lesser person in order to 
placate a greater one. Her family treat her as a 
dear and lovable, but totally unimportant, person; 
and since this treatment absolves her from a great 
deal of "fuss" and "bother," she is content. Her 
age is considerably less than that of her husband — 
"Just tzventy years betzveen us, my dear!" she al- 
ways says, as if the roundness of the figure atoned 



The Ship 5 

for its size — for he, now sixty-two, married late 
in life. 
Hester Thurlow, her daughter, whose age is nine- 
teen, is seen walking about the garden. The 
Maid has placed the tray on the table, and Janet 
is now pouring out the tea. 

Janet. Thank you, Maggie ! {She turns and calls 
to her daughter. ) Tea, Hester ! 

Hester. All right, mother! {But she remains 
where she is.) 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. When do you expect John, 
Janet ? 

Janet {as she hands a cup of tea to The Maid). 
That's Mrs. Thurlow's! (The Maid carries it to Old 
Mrs. Thurlow.) My dear, I never expect John at 
any time. He's like the wind which bloweth where it 
listeth. {Again to Hester.) Hester, your tea is get- 
ting cold, dear! {To Old Mrs. Thurlow.) There's 
nothing I dislike so much as tepid tea. (The Maid 
goes out.) 

Hester {entering). All the flowers are nearly dead. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. The autumn's almost over, 
my dear! 

Hester {taking a cup from the tray). I hate to see 
them withering. 

Janet. You should do what I do — pretend you 
don't see them. 

Hester {sitting beside her grandmother). But I 
can't help seeing them. 

Janet. Oh, yes, you can. Don't look! 



6 The Ship 

Hester. Do you know what train Jack's coming 
by, mother? I'd Hke to go and meet him. 

Janet. No. He didn't say. ( To Old Mrs. Thur- 
Low.) He's like the wind, too. 

Hester. Perhaps he'll come with father and George 
in the car. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Is George coming to-day? 

Janet. Yes. John and he are bringing home a 
model of the "Magnificent" to put along with those 
two over there. {She indicates the other models by a 
turn of her head.) 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. George reminds me very 
much of your father, Hester, when he was a boy. 
Always thinking of ships ! He ran away from school 
once to see a boat launched from the Yard, and your 
grandfather was going to thrash him for it, but I said 
he'd much better apprentice him to shipbuilding. I 
had great difficulty in making him consent — he wanted 
your father to be a minister like himself! . . . 

Hester. I can't imagine father as a minister. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, dear, nor could I. The 
Yard was a very small one then. We little thought 
John would own it one day. 

Hester {full of pride). And now it's the biggest 
shipyard in the world. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow {equally proud). Yes, that's 
what your father has made of it. 

Hester. Isn't it funny that Jack doesn't seem very 
keen on shipbuilding. George likes the Yard much 
better than Jack does. 

Janet. Nonsense, Hester! How can anyone help 
liking a thing which makes so much money? 



The Ship 7 

Old Mrs. Thurlow (holding her cup out). May 
I have some more tea? 

Janet. Hester, your grandmother's cup, please! 

Hester (passhig the cup on to her mother). I wish 
father weren't so desperately anxious to have Jack in 
the Yard. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Jack's his only son, my dear. 

Hester. But that isn't Jack's fault, granny. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, but it's an explanation 
of your father's wish. A man Hkes to think of his 
work being carried on by his son. 

Hester. You didn't think so when father wanted 
to be a shipbuilder instead of a minister. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, my dear, that isn't quite 
true. But I've always thought that people ought to 
be allowed to find their own way as far as possible, 
and I don't like to see a young man compelled to give 
up his ambition for his father's. 

Janet (passing Old Mrs. Thurlow's tea to her, 
via Hester). Anybody can like anything. It's all a 
question of making up your mind and not being fussy. 
For years and years I couldn't eat tomatoes. Then I 
said to myself, "This is ridiculous, this . . . this 
prejudice against tomatoes!" and I forced myself to 
eat them, although I was sick twice, and now I'm 
really quite fond of them. 

[The door opens, and Jack Thurlow enters. 
He is a good-looking, honest, humourless, 
rather priggish lad of twenty-one. He is 
dressed with that cultivated carelessness 
which is characteristic of the young man 



8 The Ship 

in revolt against convention. His clothes 
are of rough tweed, hut the tailoring is 
good, and, although he would he very in- 
dignant if he were told so, he takes as 
much trouhle with his artistic tie as a 
fashionable fop takes with his.] 
Janet and Hester (simultaneously). Jack!! 
Jack. I thought I'd surprise you. 
Hester (meeting him half-way and embracing him). 
Why didn't you tell us what train you were coming 
by, and then I'd have met you? 

Jack. I didn't know myself until the last minute. 
I intended to go and find father and have a chat with 
him — he isn't home yet, is he? 
Hester. No, not yet. 

Jack. And then I changed my mind and came 
down by myself. (He goes to Janet and kisses her.) 
Any tea, mother? 

Janet. I'll get some more. Hester, darling, ring 
the bell, will you? 

[Hester does so, while Jack greets his grand- 
mother.] 
Jack. How are you, granny? (Kisses her.) 
Old Mrs. Thurlow. All the better for seeing 
you, my dear. Sit here beside me and tell me what 
you did in France. 

[He sits heside her. 
Hester (seating herself near them). Yes, do, Jack. 
Your letters hardly told us anything. 

[The Maid enters. 
Janet. Some fresh tea for Mr. Jack, Maggie. 



The Ship 9 

Maid {taking the tea-pot). Yes, ma'am. (Exit.) 

Jack. I don't know that I did so very much, 
granny, but I thought a good deal. I — I reviewed my 
whole life. 

Janet. My dear boy, how could you? You were 
only there three weeks. 

Jack. Yes, but I thought very hard. I felt discon- 
tented, mother, and I asked myself a great many ques- 
tions. 

Old Mrs. Thurlov^. Did you get any answers, my 
dear? 

Jack. Well, yes, granny, I think so. The final 
answer depends upon father to a great extent. When 
is he coming home? 

Janet. My dear, nobody ever knows when your 
father is coming home, least of all me. 

Hester. Did mother tell you that the Queen is go- 
ing to launch the "Magnificent" ? 

Janet. Of course I told him, Hester. As if I'd 
forget a thing like that. (The Maid returns with the 
tea-pot.) Ah, here's the tea! Thank you, Maggie! 

[The Maid puts the pot on the table and goes 
out.] 

Hester. I'm so glad the Queen is coming on Mon- 
day. George says father is sure to get a title. 

Janet. I wonder if he ought to take it. People are 
so suspicious of titles, even if they are taken innocently. 

Jack. I don't suppose father wants one. Titles are 
all right for people who haven't got anything else to 
justify their existence. 

Janet. Oh, darling, don't be so cynical. If your 



10 The Ship 

father were to receive a peerage, you'd be the Honour- 
able John Thurlow. (Passing his cup to him.) Here's 
your tea! And you, Hester, you'd be the Honourable 
Hester Thurlow. (Reflectively, as if she were tasting 
the title.) It sounds rather nice. The Honourable 
Hester Thurlow ! . . . Well, if the King offers a peer- 
age to your father, my dears, I shall advise him to 
accept it for your sakes. Parents should always put 
their children's wishes before their own. Did I give 
you any sugar, Jack ? 

Jack. Yes, thank you, mother. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. What sort of questions did 
you ask yourself in France, Jack ? 

Jack. All sorts, granny. Questions about myself 
and father and the Yard and . . . God ! 

Janet. God ! I don't quite see the connection, dar- 
ling. 

Jack. Don't you, mother ? I do. You do, granny ? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. I can understand you seeing 
it. Jack. 

Jack. I just reviewed my whole position, mother. 
What am I doing in this world ? What am I here for ? 
What's the good of me? What's God got to do with 
rne? Things like that! 

Janet. I never ask myself such questions. I should 
feel as if I were taking a liberty. 

Jack. But, mother, a man has to ask himself such 
questions if he's going to understand life at all. 

Janet. It isn't necessary to understand life. All 
you've got to do is to live it. 

Jack. What I want to get at is this. Here's God 
and here am I! . . . (He indicates points on the floor.) 



The Ship II 

Janet. Darling ! On the hearth-rug, too ! 

Jack. I'm not trying to be funny, mother. Am I, 
granny ? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, dear. But go on. I'm 
impatient to hear what judgment you passed on God. 

Jack (rebuffed). Oh, now you're making fun of 
me, too. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow (patting him affectionately). 
No, I'm not, Jack. But young men nowadays pull very 
long faces, and really, dear, it isn't necessary. 

Jack. But we've got to find out about things, 
granny. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. I know, but you needn't make 
your enquiries as if you suspected the worst. 

Jack. It's awful when you look at the world and see 
what a mess it's in. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. I remember hearing Thomas 
Carlyle say something like that. He was very ill, poor 
man. 

Jack. Everything seems all wrong. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. And are you going to put 
everything right, my dear? 

Jack. I want to do what I can. 

Janet. You'll be very busy, darling. 

Jack (rising and standing with his back to the fire). 
I've thought it all out, and it seems to me, granny, that 
I've got to begin with myself. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. That's a great improvement 
on most reformers. Jack, who generally want to begin 
on other people. 

Jack. Well, I'm going to begin with myself. The 
rest ought to be easy. ( The boy's sincerity transcends 



12 The Ship 

his priggishness as the speech proceeds.) When I was 
in France, granny, I went up to part of the devastated 
area — along the valley of the Somme, from Albert up 
to Bapaume and Peronne — and I thought how horrible 
it was that all those decent chaps went out to the War, 
full of chivalry and idealism, and then came back, dis- 
illusioned and embittered. I used to wonder why the 
men who went to the War were so cynical about 
women and politics and England — about everything. 
And now I think I know. They feel as if they'd been 
crucified and buried, but hadn't risen again. It must 
have been ghastly to go through the things they 
suffered, and then come home to all the old things made 
worse. Well, I suppose they're done for, poor devils. 
They've lost hope and faith, and they just don't care 
any more about anything. But I've got all my hope, 
granny, and I want to see if people like me can't put 
things right — more right than they are now. I know 
this sounds frightfully priggish, but I can't help that. 
I feel that each one of us has got to begin here. (He 
touches his breast as he speaks.) 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Have you found out yet what 
is right? 

Jack. I think so. We're all too artificial. We've 
got to lead a more natural life ! . . . 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. The first people to say that, 
my dear, were Adam and Eve, and the result was that 
they were put out of the Garden of Eden. 

Janet. If I'd been Eve I should simply have re- 
fused to go. I always thought she was a little too 
acquiescent. 



The Ship 13 

Jack. I used to watch the peasants working in the 
fields in France, and while I was watching them I sud- 
denly realised what I've often suspected, that the cause 
of all our troubles is machinery ! 

Janet. Machinery ! 

Hester. What on earth do you mean ? 

Jack. Machines defile people. A man in a fac- 
tory isn't a man. He isn't even a machine — he's the 
servant of a machine. Think of all the factories in 
Biggport pouring their muck into the river, and then 
think of what the river must have been like before the 
factories were built! Well, everything in the world 
now is like that. When I was in the devastated area, 
I realised that a machine-driven world could never 
be anything else but hideous, that it must become more 
and more hideous. All those beautiful fields, so care- 
fully cultivated by the peasants, were smashed and 
ripped and brutally defiled by machinery, and the only 
people who were doing anything to restore them to life 
again were the peasants working with their hands. 

Janet. My dear, you're talking like Tolstoy. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. I don't think machines matter 
much, Jack. It's people who matter. Guns don't 
usually go off by themselves, and anyhow a peasant's 
spade is a machine. 

Jack. I know that we must have machinery in our 
lives, but I protest against this servitude to machines. 
Nobody gets any fun out of his work now. We're all 
machine-minders or loafers. 

Hester. But, Jack, you're working with your hands 
now — in the Yard. 



14 The Ship 

Jack. Fm going to leave the Yard. 

Hester and Old Mrs. Thurlow (simultaneously). 
Leave the Yard ! ! 

Jack. Yes. 

Janet. But you can't leave it. Your father won't 
let you. And the Queen coming on Monday, too ! 

Jack. Father's big ships are just as wrong as the 
Biggport factories. I object to these floating hotels, 
as he calls them, because they make the sea like a dirty, 
neurotic, modern city. 

Janet. That's just sentimentality. Jack. A modern 
city isn't half so dirty as the mediaeval cities were. I 
know. I've read all about it in Mr. Wells's "History 
of the World." We don't have plagues ! . . . 

Jack. Or poems. The mediaeval people may not 
have had good drains, mother, but they had great 
poets. 

Janet. Well, I may be a Philistine, but I'd rather 
be sanitary than be inspired. "Romeo and Juliet" 
would be very little consolation to me if I were suffer- 
ing from smallpox. I often think it would have done 
Shakespeare good if he'd been less exalted and more 
hygenic, living that stuffy life in Stratford. And if 
there'd been more machinery in his day, there wouldn't 
be any doubt about who wrote his plays. We'd know. 

Jack. Perhaps there wouldn't be any plays. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Oh, yes, there would, my 
dear. One's difficulty with a genius is, not how to en- 
courage hirn, but how to keep him in order. I think 
your mother's right. 

Hester. What are you going to do when you leave 
the Yard, Jack? 



The Ship 15 

Jack. I talked the subject over with a man I met 
in France. His name's Cornelius, and he's an ex- 
officer, rather at a loose end. He'll come into partner- 
ship with me in a farm, and I want father to give me 
the money ! . . . 

Janet. You're going to be a farmer ! 

Jack. Yes, mother. I want to grow things. 

Janet. You know you're simply flying in the face 
of Providence — to say nothing of your father ! 

Jack. That's another point. I've realised for some 
time past that father has a much stronger will than I 
have, and in the Yard I'm simply a sounding-board for 
his opinions. I seem to have no will of my own there — 
just his will. You understand me, don't you, granny? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. I think so, dear. But I won- 
der whether it isn't better to express the will of greater 
people than ourselves than to insist on expressing our 
own. 

Jack. No, no, granny, no! Let's each express our 
own will. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. There'd be frightful con- 
fusion if we did. Jack. 

Jack. Well, confusion is better than slavery. I 
have a right to my own life and thoughts, but I can't 
have them under father. He's too much for me. 

Janet. Nonsense, Jack. I've been married to your 
father for twenty-two years, and I've proved that it's 
quite easy to get on with him. Just do what he tells 
you, and he's perfectly reasonable. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. My dear, you're very young 
and I'm very old, and sometimes I think that the very 
old understand the very young better than anyone else, 



i6 The Ship 

because you're so near the beginning and we're so near 
the end. I want you to believe that I'm tr)4ing to 
understand your point of view when I say it's better 
to go on than to go back ! . . . 

Jack. Not always, granny! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, but nearly always. Peo- 
ple like your father haven't finished their work — 
they're only midway through it. But you think, 
because you see the confusion of a half -completed job, 
that it's a bungled job. You said something just now 
about the bitterness which fills the young men who 
came back from the War, but you don't seem to real- 
ise that an ideal which cannot survive a blow. . . . 

Jack. A terrible blow, granny. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes, dear, a very terrible 
blow, but surely the only ideal worth having is the one 
which survives all blows ? To me, the most wonderful 
thing in the world is not the young man beginning life 
with ideals — we all do that — but the old man dying 
with them undiminished. So few do that. Your 
father's an idealist — oh, yes, he is — with a passion for 
ships. He has suffered many blows to his faith in 
ships, but he's kept his faith. Whenever he was 
knocked down', he got up again. My son will never 
give in to anything, and if I were a boy I should be 
proud to serve such a man. 

Jack. But I don't believe in his faith, granny. I 
don't believe in it ! . . . 

[The door opens, and The Maid enters. 

Maid. The master and Mr. Norwood have just 
come, ma'am. They've got a big case with them. 



The Ship 17 

[Before Janet can make any reply to this 
announcement, John Thurlow enters. 
The Maid retires. John Thurlow is 
a tall, bearded man, a-ged sixty-two, de- 
liberate in his ways, but very definite 
and authoritative in speech. He is 
affectionate in a manner that is almost 
condescending, and, in spite of his 
appearance of coolness, is full of pos- 
sessive fury which ranges from great 
passion to mere sentimentality. His love 
for his mother is very marked: he even 
uses a different and gentler tone in 
speaking to her than he uses in speaking 
to the others.] 
John. Hester! . . . Hilloa, Jack, you back again? 
Jack (from whom some of the confidence has now 
evaporated). Yes, father. 

John. Well, go and help George, will you? We've 
brought home the model of the "Magnificent," and it's 
too heavy for him alone. 

Jack (going towards the door). Very good, father. 
John (as Jack passes him). Had a good holiday? 
Jack. Yes, thank you. (Exit.) 
John (as he kisses his wife). He looks well, doesn't 
he? 

Janet. Yes. Have you had any tea, John? 
John (kissing Hester, who has gone to him). I 
don't want any, thanks. (To Hester.) Well, young 
woman, what do you want ? 
Hester. Nothing, daddy. 



i8 The Ship 

John. God bless my soul, child, are you ill ? 

Hester (Tmth a pout). Oh, daddy! 

John (putting her aside and going to his mother). 
Do you hear that, mother ? Hester has got everything 
she wants. Lucky girl ! 

Hester. Daddy, you aren't a bit funny when you 
try to be. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Oh, my dear, my dear, you 
mustn't be disrespectful to your parents' wit. Humour 
thy father and thy mother that thy days may be long 
in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee. 

John (sitting beside his mother). And what have 
you been doing to-day? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Thinking about you, my dear. 

John. Well, you couldn't have employed your time 
better. Could she, Hester? 

Hester. Father, you are a conceited old man ! . . . 

John. Ummmm, not so very old, my dear, not so 
very old! Why, your granny's only eighty-three. 
That's all, mother. (Old Mrs. Thurlow pats him 
affectionately.) And everybody knows eighty-three's 
nothing. Never had an ache in your life, had you ? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Only those you caused me, 
John. 

John. That's a nice thing to say! . . . (The door 
is opened by The Maid to admit Jack and George.) 
Ah, here comes the "Magnificent" ! 

[He goes half-way towards the door to meet 
Jack and George Norwood, who enter 
in that order, carrying a model of the 
''Magnificent'^ between them. It is in a 
glass case, and is about four feet long. 



The Ship 19 

The "Magnificent" is unlike any ship 
now sailing the sea. It has not got any 
funnels or masts, for example, but has 
ventilation shafts where funnels would 
ordinarily be, and trellis-work poles 
used chiefly for wireless telegraphy 
where masts might be expected. The 
principal differences between her and, 
say, the "Olympic'' are not outwardly 
observable. To eyes accustomed to 
coal-fed liners, she looks unfinished, ugly 
even.] 
John (indicating the table in the centre of the 
room). Put her down there. Gently, gently! . . . 
(as Jack seems to stumble). 

Jack. She's heavy. (George and he put the model 
on the table.) Isn't she, George? 

[George Norwood, aged twenty-four, is a 

firm-willed young man, older in mind 

than he is in years, with plenty of 

imagination in shipbuilding, but very 

little in anything else. He regards 

John Thurlow with feelings akin to 

idolatry.] 

George. Oh, I don't think so. (The idolatrous 

young man would gladly strain himself lifting the 

model of any boat built by John Thurlow.) She 

doesn't feel heavy to me. I could have carried her in 

myself, only the Chief wouldn't let me. He said I 

might hurt myself, Mrs. Thurlow (this is to Janet), 

but really he was afraid I might drop her ! He wasn't 

thinking of me. Were you, Chief ? 



20 The Ship 

John (to his mother). That's how these brats in 
the Yard talk to me, mother. They think I've got 
swelled head because I've built the swiftest ship in 
the world, and so they try to take me down a peg or 
two. Some of them think they can build ships better 
than I can! . . . 

George. Oh, no, we don't, sir. If we can build 
them as well as you do, we'll feel content. 

John. Will you? If you don't build 'em better 
than I do, you won't be worth a damn. Will they, 
mother ? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, dear. 

John. What will be the good of me dying to make 
room for you fellows if you don't improve on me? (He 
turns to his mother.) Come and have a look at her, 
mother. (He gives his arm to Old Mrs. Thurlow 
and leads her to the model.) Isn't she a beauty? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes, she's a bonny boat. 

Janet. But she hasn't got any funnels. 

John. No, my dear, she hasn't. We've abolished 
funnels. They belong to the Dark Ages when people 
burned coal. We burn oil. 

Hester (pointing to the ventilation shafts). But 
aren't those funnels, daddy? 

George (eager to explain to her). No, Hester, 
those are the ventilators. These poles are principally 
for wireless telegraphy, but they will serve any useful 
purpose that a mast serves. 

Janet. I think she looks ugly — as if she hadn't any 
clothes on. 

John. Ugly! She's beautiful. Isn't she, mother? 



The Ship 21 

(He does not wait for a reply.) You're like everybody 
else, Janet. You say a thing's ugly until you get used 
to it, and then you think anything that's different from 
it is hideous. If you'd seen the first real steamship 
you'd have thought her ugly because she wasn't like 
that old sailing-ship there! (He indicates the man- 
of-war.) 

Janet. Well, she may be very wonderful, but I 
think she looks ugly. 

John. Looks! What are looks compared with ac- 
tion? There isn't a ship in the world that can go 
through the water as the "Magnificent" will. Look at 
her shape! Not an inch of wasted space in her. I 
reckon I know something about aesthetics, and I say 
that boat's beautiful. Do you see her keel? In coal- 
fed boats that space was wasted — full of bilge- water — 
and all this space above it was occupied by bunkers full 
of coal, difficult to stow and shift, and filthily dirty. 
And what else had you? Boilers, and furnaces, tak- 
ing up a tremendous amount of room. Waste space, 
all of it I Well, I've changed all that. I put oil where 
the bilge-water used to go, poured into the ship cleanly 
through a hose-pipe, and I put passengers where the 
coal-bunkers used to be. This ship will be able to 
replenish her fuel from oil-ships at sea. Think of 
that ! She'll carry three thousand passengers and land 
them in New York four days after she leaves South- 
ampton. 

Hester. She isn't as big as I thought she'd be, 
daddy. 

John. No, she's not big. I don't believe in big 



22 The Ship 

ships. Big ships mean big harbours and trouble in 
turning. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Won't the going be rough, 
John? 

John. No, mother. She'll do twenty-eight knots 
an hour without a quiver. George, I believe she'll do 
over thirty, without much shaking — not any more than 
you'd get on a Cunarder or a White Star. 

George. I think you're right, sir! 

John (to Old Mrs. Thurlov^). Of course, 
George really thinks that oil- fed ships are obsolete 
already. Don't you, George? He's all for electric- 
ity! . . . 

George. That'll come, sir. Oil's too dear and too 
difficult to get. 

John. Well, that'll have to be your job in the world, 
George, yours and Jack's. My business is with oil- 
driven ships. Isn't it disgusting to think that some of 
the best oil-wells in the world are in the hands of a 
lot of damned Arabs? I can't imagine why the Lord 
wanted to put 'em in the Garden of Eden. If He'd 
only had the sense to put 'em in the neighbourhood 
of Southampton! . . . 

Janet. John, John, dear! That is not the way to 
speak of the inscrutable designs of Providence. Be- 
fore Hester, too! 

John. The next thing I'm going to do, mother, is 
to abolish pilots. In a year or two, this boat will be 
steered by wireless telegraphy. Some fellow sitting 
in an office in New York will guide her along a per- 
fectly straight course into her berth. Lord, isn't it 



The Ship 23 

wonderful what progress we've made with boats? A 
hundred years ago, there weren't any steamships, and 
now we've got the "Magnificent." 

[While he is speaking, they return to their 
places, except Hester and George who 
remain by the model. Jack goes to the 
window and shuts it.] 

Janet. Supposing she were to sink! . . . 

John. Don't be silly, Janet! She can't sink. She's 
unsinkable. You could dig a hole in her side as high 
as a house and she wouldn't sink. 

George (illustrating from the model). You see, 
Mrs. Thurlow, we can isolate any part of her in a 
few seconds by pressing a lever here on the bridge. 

John. We've got the sea under control at last, 
Janet. I think I will have some tea. 

Janet. Oh, John, you are provoking! Why 
couldn't you say so when I asked you before? 

John. I didn't want it then, but I want it now. 
You'll have some, George, won't you? 

George. Well, thanks, if you're having some! . . . 

John. Right! (The Maid enters.) Oh, here is 
, Maggie! Maggie, bring up some more tea. Indian 
tea, and very strong. None of that wishy-washy China 
stuff! 

Maid. Yes, sir. (Exit.) 

John. I like to taste the tannin in my tea. Well, 
Jack, how's France ? I hope you're glad to get home 
again. 

Jack. Yes, father, I am. 

John. I hope the French people knocked some of 



24 The Ship 

the notions out of your head. Eh? (Jack laughs a 
little nervously.) It's time you settled down, my boy, 
and got rid of cranky ideas. When did you get back? 

Jack. Only a little while ago. 

John. Oh! Why didn't you come down to the 
Yard? You could have motored home with George 
and me . . .. and the "Magnificent." (Suddenly, as 
if remembering a thing forgotten.) Damn ! 

Hester. Father, you swear like a flapper! 

John. George, we forgot to stop at Sanderson's. 

George. So we did. I ought to have remembered. 
Shall I go back again? 

John. Yes, do. 

Janet. But he hasn't had any tea, poor thing! 

John. He doesn't want any tea. Take the car, 
George. You'll be back in half-an-hour. 

Hester. I'll come too. 

George. Oh, good ! 

Hester. Go and get the car ready, while I put on 
my hat and coat. The garden's the quickest way. 

George (as he goes out by the windows which 
Jack opens for him) . Right you are ! 

[Hester goes out by the door, as Jack 
closes the windows behind George.] 

John. That girl orders George about as if she 
owned him. 

Janet. I think they're very suited to each other. 

John. What's that? 

Janet. George and Hester! I think they're very 
suited to each other. 

John. I daresay, but George oughtn't to think of 



The Ship 25 

marriage for a long time yet. He's got a lot of work 
to do before he gets married. And Hester's young. 
She can wait. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. People say it's better to 
marry young, John. 

John. No, it isn't, mother. Marriage makes young 
men timid and careful just when their adventurous 
quality is most useful. 1 didn't get married until I 
was . . . What age was I, Janet? 

Janet. Forty. You were forty and I was twenty. 
I sometimes wish you'd been younger, John. 

John. Why? 

Janet. Well! . . . Oh, I don't know! 

John. Of course you don't. I was exactly the 
right age for you. Every man ought to be twenty 
years older than his wife. If he doesn't start off with 
that advantage, what hope has he of keeping her in 
order? If I had married when I was George's age, I 
shouldn't have been able to concentrate my mind on 
my work. I soon realised that, and so I put marriage 
clean out of my thoughts until I was sure of my posi- 
tion. Then I looked around and I saw you, Janet, 
and my mind was made up in a moment {He sits on 
the arm of her chair and fondles her.) You were 
very young and pretty and timid when I first knew 
you. 

Janet (all aglow). Oh, John, I wasn't timid. 

John. Oh, yes, you were! That's why I liked 
you. You remember, don't you, mother, how I came 
home and told you about her ? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. I do, indeed. You said to 



26 The Ship 

me, "Mother, that girl's afraid of me. I shall marry 
her." 

John. That's right. And so I did. And I'm not 
sorry. 

[He kisses Janet. Jack gets up and goes 
towards the garden during this speech. 
As he passes the chair where his parents 
are, John catches hold of him by the 
arm.] 

John. Well, Jack? 

Jack. Well, father? 

John. You're not in love, I hope. 

Jack. No, father. {Then with an effort.) Father, 
I want to say something to you. 

John {getting up). Yes, my boy. Shall we go 
upstairs ? 

Jack. I've been telling granny and mother about it 
already. 

John. Oh! You haven't been getting into a mess, 
have you? 

Jack. No, father! . . . 

John. Well, you look damned solemn! What's up? 

Jack. You know what I think of things — what you 
call my cranky notions. 

John {with comic despair). Oh, yes, indeed I do. 

Jack. Well, father, I'm serious about them. I'm 
not just a crank. I've thought things out, and I . . . 
I want to leave the Yard. 

John. Leave the Yard ! What do you mean? 

Jack. I want to leave it for good. 

John. Oh! And may I ask why? 



The Ship 27 

Janet. Jack thinks there's something wrong with 
the principle of the Yard. 

Jack. It isn't only the Yard, father. It's the whole 
mechanical civilisation. All these big factories and 
mills and workshops are all wrong! . . . 

John. Oh, that stuff again! I thought you'd got 
over that. 

Jack. I know you think I'm a fool, father. You've 
never taken me very seriously, but I'm in earnest. I 
hate this servitude to machines. It's degrading. 

John. I don't know what the devil you're talking 
about. Do you understand him, mother? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. I understand a great many 
things, John, of which I do not approve. 

John. Well, what does he mean? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Jack's a reactionary! . . . 

Jack. No, granny! . . . 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Oh, yes, my dear, you are. 
You condemn all that mankind has done for more 
than a century because you don't like the look of it. 
And you've persuaded yourself to believe that a man 
who spends his Hfe ploughing fields is somehow en- 
joying a better life than a man in a factory. Per- 
haps he is, although I've not noticed that peasants are 
any more noble-minded than other people. But, my 
dear, you're making a very great mistake if you think 
that mankind is going to scrap your father's 
ships! . . . 

John. Scrap my ships ! . . . 

Old Mrs. Thurlow {rebuking him). Hush, 
John! I am speaking. 



28 The Ship 

John (abashed). I beg your pardon, mother! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. We've got to go on, Jack. It 
isn't any good arguing about progress, for that de- 
pends very largely on the person who is mak'ing it. I 
daresay most of us mean well, but I'm old-fashioned 
enough to think that we ought to leave our affairs in 
the hands of our betters. 

Jack. But who are our betters, granny? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Those who prove themselves 
to be. We can't all be great, my dear, but we should 
try to recognise those who are. My son is a great 
man. 

Jack. I know that, granny, but a man can be great 
and wrong at the same time. You're wrong, father! 
All the people who make men less than machines are 
wrong. I'm not clever enough to prove it to you, but 
can't you see that this mania for bigness, these big 
cities, big engines, and big empires are destroying 
human beings. We can't feed ourselves in England 
now, in spite of our progress, and when the next war 
comes, we'll starve to death in the midst of magnifi- 
cent machines. 

John. Wait a minute! I don't quite get the hang 
of this. Do you think this boat is all wrong, as you 
say? 

Jack. Yes, father! 

John. Oh! And why? 

Jack. She's a luxury ship. All your improvements 
are simply to provide more luxuries for the passen- 
gers. Swimming-baths and theatres and cafes and 
cinemas and libraries and daily newspapers and ball- 



The Ship 29 

rooms and magnificent private suites for millionaires. 
Thaf s all ! The men who used to work that ship {he 
points to the mar-vessel) were sailors, but youVe abol- 
ished sailors, father, and put swimming-bath attend- 
ants in their place. I don't call it progress to take a 
decent seaman and turn him into a waiter, cadging 
for tips. 

Janet. I don't approve of the tipping system— no 
woman does — but I don't see why people shouldn't 
be comfortable at sea, just where they need it most. 

Jack. Well, that's what I think. It doesn't mat- 
ter to me whether the "Magnificent" is the swiftest 
and most comfortable ship in the world if the men 
she carries aren't worth carrying. I'm for men against 
machines from this on. That's what I mean, father. 

John. I see. 

Jack. So I'm going to leave the Yard. 

John. Yes? 

Jack. And try to discover a better way of living. 

John. Oh, yes! 

Jack. I thought perhaps you'd understand my point 
of view, father. 

John (with rising fury). Your point of view! 
Do you understand mine? 

Jack. I try to understand you, father! . . . 

John. Do you see that ship? (He points to the 
model of the ''Magnificentr) She's just a machine 
to you— a luxury-ship. Eh? That's so, isn't it? 
Isn't it? 

Jack. Yes, father. 

John. Do you know what she is to 9ne? No! 



30 The Ship 

That doesn't occur to you. You can stand there and 
. . . and insult my boat! . . . 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. John, dear ! 

John. No, mother, no. {To Jack.) I love this 
boat. My whole life and soul have gone into her. And 
you make little of her, call her a luxury-ship, a ma- 
chine. But she's something more than a machine, 
Jack. She's a living, breathing thing. Why, a ship is 
as sensitive as a young girl. And this beautiful thing 
that I've made — my God, how dare you insult my ship ! 

Jack. I have a right to my opinions, father. 

John. Your opinions! There are too many opin- 
ions in the world, and yours isn't much better than 
most of them. On your own ground of argument, 
my boat is doing a great work! She's helping to 
make people friendly by bringing them together and 
making neighbours of them. 

Jack. You don't make people friendly, father, just 
by making neighbours of them. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. We've certainly fought more 
wars with France than we have with Patagonia, and 
I sometimes think we could live more happily with 
the Irish if they were further away. 

John. I don't understand this kind of talk. It's 
enough for me that my ships are good ships. You in- 
tend to leave the Yard, Jack — to have nothing more 
to do with it? 

Jack. Yes. 

John. And when I die, who's going to carry it on? 

Jack. Someone else will have to do that, if it's to 
be carried on. 



The Ship 31 

John. You don't see my point, Jack. A Thurlow 
made this ship and made the Yard where she was 
built. A Thurlow raised it from nothing to be the 
greatest shipyard in the world. We have a name, and 
I made that name. 

Jack. Yes, father, I realise that. 

John. I want that name maintained. You talk 
about understanding things. Do you understand the 
pride I had in creating the Yard, and my desire that 
my son and my son's son should continue it and make 
it greater than I made it? Do you understand that? 
When you were born, the first thought that came into 
my head was that you'd build ships as I'd built them. 
I didn't think of you as a child: I thought of you as 
a shipbuilder — the head of Thurlow's! . . . 

Jack. I've never wished to build ships, father. 

John. What has your wish got to do with it? 
You're my son to whom I pass on my work as I pass 
on my life. 

Jack* But I'm not only your son. I'm myself. I 
have a right to my own life. 

John. No one has any right to his life. No one in 
the world has a right to his life. Haven't you learned 
that yet? What da you want to do^ — if you leave the 
Yard? 

Janet. He wants to buy a farm. 

John. A farm! 

Jack. Yes, father. I want to go on the land with 
a friend of mine. 

John. And you want me to give you the money 
for it, eh? 



32 The Ship 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. He hasn't any of his own, 
John. 

John. No. NO. Not one half-penny! You've 
got to come back to the Yard, Jack. 

Jack. I can't, father. 

John. You've got to, my boy. 

Jack. Won't George do? 

John. You're my son. George isn't. I want you. 

Jack. Is that why ? Because I'm your son. 

John. Yes. 

Jack. Then I won't go back. 

John. You'll do what I tell you. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Is that wise, John? 

John. I don't care whether it is or not. I will 
have a Thurlow at the head of Thurlow's. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. It's foolish, my dear, to force 
the right opinions on the wrong people. 

[The door opens, and Hester enters. 

Hester. Father, do come for a drive. George's 
got the car at the door, and he wants to say some- 
thing to you. 

John. Why can't he coine here and say it? 

Hester. Well, he thinks he'll feel more confident 
in the open air. As a matter of fact, daddy, he wants 
to marry me. 

John. Then tell him the answer's "No." 

Hester. Don't be silly, father! I've just told him 
that it's "Yes." Come and cheer him up. He looks 
frightfully miserable. 



The Ship 33 

Janet. If you hadn't prevented him from having 
his tea, John, this wouldn't have happened. 

Hester. Oh, yes, it would, mother. Come along, 
daddy ! 

[She goes out. 

John. Jack, my boy, don't let's quarrel. You see, 
you're my son, and I ... I love you. That's why 
George won't do. {He goes out.) 

Jack. I can't stand up to him, granny! I can't 
stand up to him. 

Janet. Then why try? 

Jack. I must think for myself, mother. I can't 
stay here and be dominated like this. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. It's very wrong to make peo- 
ple do things they don't want to do, even when those 
things are right. Very wrong. I've always believed // 
that if a man wanted to go to hell and were com- 
pelled to go to heaven, he'd end by turning heaven 
into hell. Very wrong! Very wrong! Your views, 
Jack, are rather silly, but no one can make you realise 
how silly they are so well as you can. It's a pity you 
don't like ships . . . very beautiful things, ships . . . 
but since you don't and your father won't give you the 
money to buy your farm, I'm afraid I shall have to 
give it to you. 

Jack (eagerly). You will, granny? 

Janet. My dear, you mustn't. John will be very 
angry. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. I'm too old now to mind 
whether people are angry with me or not. I spent most 
of my life in helping John to get his desire. I think 



34 The Ship 

I must spend the rest of it in helping Jack to get his. 
That's the chief thing, isn't it, to get your desire, even 
when it disappoints you. 

Jack (kneeling beside her). Granny, dear! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow (patting him gently). My 
poor little boy! 



ACT TWO 



THE SECOND ACT 

The scene is laid in what was formerly the kitchen of 
a comfortable farmhouse: a large, airy, well-lit 
room now chiefly used as a combined sitting- and 
dining-room. It is furnished in the bare, austere 
and self-conscious fashion which is characteristic 
of the various Peasant Crafts societies and or- 
ganisations for the revival of medicevalism in rural 
districts. There is the maximum of artistic oddity 
and the minimum of comfort, for the designer of 
the furniture was obsessed by the idea that peas- 
ants, when they made things in a clumsy, incM- 
cient manner, did so, not because they were inex- 
pert, but to express some deeply-felt, though not 
clearly-articulated, theory about art. The tables 
and chairs are not polished or stained in any way. 
The plain, unvarnished wood, like the plain, un- 
varnished truth (about which we hear so much, 
of which we hear so little) is good enough for the 
Peasant Crafts societies. The floor is uncarpeted, 
the only concession to the mollycoddled being an 
occasional mat. The curtains have stencilled de- 
signs on them, and are quite pretty. 

The time is five months after the date of the first 
act, and the signs of spring can be seen through 
the windows and the door when it is opened. 
37 



38 The Ship 

The day is Sunday, and the work of the farm, 
therefore, is more or less at a standstill. That 
is why Jack Thurlow is able to sit at a small 
writing-table in one of the windozvs, smoking a 
pipe as he composes a letter. He is dressed 
in a brown corduroy suit, and wears brown gai- 
ters above his thick-soled brown boots. His shirt 
is khaki- colored, and it is open at the throat, thus 
relieving him of the necessity of wearing a neck- 
tie. He looks healthy and tanned, which is ex- 
actly how he ought to look, for he has spent most 
of the past five months in the open-air. He has 
rather more confidence in himself now than he 
had in the first act, and he is certainly happy. He 
writes ai few words, then picks up the letter and, 
leaning back in his chair, reads it through. 

A clock in the room strikes three. 

Then the door opens, and Captain James Cornelius 
enters from the garden. Cornelius is eight years 
older than Jack but his manner is less serious, 
more casual, and he might pardonably be con- 
sidered the younger of the two men were it not 
for the look of knowledge in his eyes. Although 
his manner is less serious than that of Jack, 
it is in many ways more definite and author- 
itative. He has not commanded a company in 
France without obtaining the airs of a man used 
to being obeyed without argument. The authority 
in his tone, however, is more than counterbalanced 
by the lack of hope in his heart. Chiefly, he feels 
that there is very little use in striving for any- 



The Ship 39 

thing — for even if the desired object is obtained it 
mill probably not be worth having. 

Jack. Finished ? 

Cornelius. Yes. {Seating himself.) I suppose 
your people will be here soon? 

Jack. Mother said they'd arrive about three. 

Cornelius. How many are coming? 

Jack. The whole lot. My grandmother — you'll 
Ifke her, Corney. She's a darling — and my father and 
mother — you've met my mother, haven't you ? 

Cornelius. Yes. Anybody else? 

Jack. My sister and the man she's engaged to. 
They're going to be married soon. His name's Nor- 
wood — George Norwood — a very clever fellow. I'm 
glad he's going to marry Hester. He's so keen on^ 
shipbuilding that father'll probably become reconciled 
to my refusal to go into the Yard. 

Cornelius. I hope your old man will be civil to 
us. I've got a hell of a wind up about him coming 
here. 

Jack. Why ? 

Cornelius. Well, he doesn't like you being a 
farmer, and he's sure to think it's my fault. People 
always think I'm to blame for anything that goes 
wrong. The C. O. of my battalion used to blame me 
if the Boche broke through. 

Jack. You needn't worry about father. He's a 
great chap; domineering, of course, but he's a great 
chap. I'm very fond of my father. 

Cornelius. That's damned funny, isn't it? What 



40 The Ship 

I can't understand about you is your choosing to live 
like a farm laborer, messing about with cows and 
hens, when you might be the head of the biggest ship- 
yard in the world. 

Jack. My dear Corney, I've explained myself to 
you dozens of times. 

Cornelius. Yes, I know you have, and I don't 
want you to do it again. But merely telling me why 
you do a thing, doesn't explain it. The only conclu- 
sion I can come to about you. Jack, is that you're off 
your head. (Jack laughs good-naturedly.) No, but 
seriously, old chap, I'm not joking — I think you're 
potty. Do you think I'd spend my time looking after 
a lot of damned cows if I could get the job you've 
chucked? Good Lord, no! Cows are such silly fools, 
to start cff with. They look at you in a sloppy, re- 
proachful way, and suspect you of evil intentions. 
And then you have to get up and milk them at a ridic- 
ulous hour of the morning. I can't think why Noah 
let 'em in the Ark. They'd much better have been 
drowned. 

Jack. Don't grouse, Corney. 

Cornelius. I'm not grousing, Jack. I'm bewil- 
dered. Here have we been working like niggers for 
four months, getting very little for it, and you go 
about like John the Baptist — ^as if you've heard a voice 
from heaven telling you to milk cows. (He gets up 
and looks about the room for a moment or tmo,) I 
say where's the whisky? 

Jack {awkwardly). Oh, I put it away. Do you 
want some? 

Cornelius. Yes, I'd like a tot. Where is it? 



The Ship 41 

Jack. I put it in the pantry. 

Cornelius. That was silly of you. I've got to go 
and fetch it back again. 

Jack (as Cornelius goes towards the pantry 
door) . Corney, I . . . Fm not preaching or anything, 
but do you really want it? 

Cornelius. Yes. I shouldn't ask for it, if I didn't 
want it. Why? 

Jack. Oh, nothing ! Only you've had three drinks 
this morning already. 

Cornelius. Have I? 

Jack. Yes. 

Cornelius. You're jolly good at arithmetic, Jack. 
I didn't think I'd had as many as that. 

Jack. I don't want you to imagine that I'm trying 
to interfere with you ! . . . 

Cornelius. No, no, of course not. 

Jack. Only, it doesn't do you any good, Corney, 
not the amount you take. 

Cornelius. No, I suppose it doesn't. It's habit, 
you know ! That's all ! We used to drink a lot during 
the War, what with hospitality and feeling fed-up and 
trying to keep our courage going. 

Jack. Your courage? 

Cornelius. Yes. I was twenty when I went out 
to France for the first time, and chaps my age couldn't 
stand shell-fire so well as the older ones could. I used 
to be horribly afraid I'd turn funky in front of the 
men — a lot of youngsters felt like that — and so we 
used to take a tot to keep our courage up. See ? 

Jack. Yes. 

Cornelius. Then a tot wasn't enough, and after a 



42 The Ship 

while we had to be half-drunk before we could go 
through with the job. I know youngsters who went 
wrong through trying to keep their courage up like 
that — drunkards, poor devils! I didn't realise that I 
was going the same way ! Thanks very much, Jack, 
for telling me about it. 

Jack. That's all right, old chap. I meant to say 
something before this, only I thought you might think 
I was preaching to you. It's an awkward thing to talk 
about, even to a friend. 

Cornelius. Yes. Yes, it is. Jolly awkward ! 
{He goes back to his seat.) How long do you think 
it'll be before we make any profit out of this cow 
business ? 

Jack. I don't know. We may clear our expenses 
by the end of the year. 

Cornelius. Good God! 

Jack. It's slow, of course, but after all our wants 
are simple. 

Cornelius. They'd have to be, wouldn't they? 
Why, it was much more profitable fighting the old 
Boche. 

Jack. You're always talking about profit. 

Cornelius. Well, of course, I am. The only thing 
that reconciles me to associating with cows is the 
profit I think I'm going to make out of 'em. This 
chair's damned uncomfortable! . . . (Goes to another 
one.) I don't think there's much in farming, you know 
— not this sort anyhow — sheep-farming perhaps! . . . 
I say. Jack, let's go to Australia. 

Jack. I'm quite happy here, Corney. 



The Ship 43 

Cornelius. Yes, you're very easily made happy. 
Do you know, I don't think another tot would do me 
any harm? (Going towards the pantry.) 
Jack {coldly). Very well. 
Cornelius. It's in here, isn't it? 
Jack. Yes. 

Cornelius. Only just a tot, you know! That's 
all! {He goes into the pantry.) 

[Jack hends over his letter again, and pres- 
ently Cornelius, carrying the whisky- 
bottle and a tumbler, returns.] 
Cornelius. Have some. Jack? {As he pours a 
good stiff tot into the tumbler.) 
Jack. No, thanks! 

Cornelius. I thought you wouldn't, so I didn't 
bring a glass for you. {He squirts soda into the 
glass.) Well, cheerio, Jack ! 

[The noise of a motor-car is heard outside. 
Jack. Here they are! 

Cornelius. Oh, God! {Gulps down the whisky.) 
[Jack goes out. Cornelius having Unished 
his whisky, stands in an irresolute 
manner for a few moments, and then 
goes towards the door through which 
Jack has just gone. Before he can 
reach it, however. Jack returns with 
Old Mrs. Thurlow on his arm. Cor- 
nelius goes back to the centre of the 
room.] 
Jack {pausing in the doorway to call to Janet, not 
yet visible). This way, mother. {To Old Mrs. 



44 The Ship 

Thurlow, as they enter.) This is Captain Cornelius, 
granny. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow (shaking hands with Cor- 
nelius). How do you do, Captain Cornelius? 

Cornelius. Quite well, thank you. Won't you sit 
down? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow (seating herself). Thank 
you. I've often heard about you from Jack. 

Cornelius. Yes, he's a great chap for writing let- 
ters, old Jack. 

[Janet appears in the doorway. 

Janet. Is this it? 

Jack. Yes, mother. (Meeting her and bringing her 
forward.) You know Cornelius, don't you? 

Janet (greeting Cornelius). Oh, yes, I know 
Captain Cornelius. We met in Biggport, didn't we? 
Jack, dear, your father is swearing terribly over that 
car. Go and help him. 

Jack. Very well, mother. 

Janet. And be tactful, darling. Agree with every- 
thing he says, even if you don't. He's not been very 
well lately. 

Jack. All right, mother. (Exit.) 

Janet. I always think such a lot can be done with 
tact. Don't you, Captain Cornelius? 

Cornelius. Oh, yes ! Yes, of course ! Quite ! 

Janet. Neither my husband nor my son are at all 
tactful and that makes things very awkward. (To 
Old Mrs. Thurlow.) What a nice farm this is, 
mother ! So agricultural ! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Do you like farming, Cap- 
tain Cornelius? 



The Ship 45 

Cornelius. Oh, yes. It's all right, you know. I 
mean to say, if you can't get anything better ! . . . 

[John Thurlow enters, followed by Jack. 

Jack. This is Cornelius, father. 

John. How do you do? 

Cornelius. Quite well, thank you. Jolly sort of 
weather, isn't it? 

John. Quite. (Gazes about him. There is a pause 
for a moment.) 

Cornelius. Would you like a tot, sir? 

John. Tot? 

Cornelius. Yes, a tot of whisky, sir. 

John. No, thanks! What's happened to George 
and Hester? 

Janet. I think they've had tyre trouble on the 
road, John. {To Jack.) George's bought a lovely 
Httle two-seater. 

John. It's a most extraordinary thing, but when- 
ever we go out motoring with that couple, they always 
have tyre trouble and get left behind. 

Jack. Why didn't they come in your car, father? 
There was plenty of room. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow, Jack dear, I thought you'd 
retired to the country in order to study people and dis- 
cover the meaning of life. 

Jack. Yes, granny? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. You don't appear to have 
discovered much. 

John. Do you mean to say they have this tyre 
trouble on purpose? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Of course they do. I 
shouldn't think much of George if they didn't. 



46 The Ship 

John. Well, I think it's very silly. Janet and I 
never had any tyre trouble when we were engaged. 

Janet. No, dear, and we hadn't got a motor-car 
either. We had to content ourselves with bicycles, and 
being engaged on a bicycle is very agitating. {To 
Jack.) They've fixed the date of their marriage, and 
it's to be almost immediately. Your father was 
against it, of course, but Hester said she'd go into a 
decline or run away or something if he didn't con- 
sent, so he gave in. Hester's a very determined girl. 

John. It wasn't Hester who made me consent. It 
was my mother, who gave me the only sensible reason 
for consenting that was offered to me. Hester's de- 
termination had nothing whatever to do with it. It 
was my determination. Wasn't it, mother? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow {smiling). Yes, my dear. 
You always get your own way. 

Janet. I suspect you find this sort of life very dif- 
ferent from the army, Captain Cornelius. 

Cornelius. Yes, it is a bit, but not so much as 
you'd think. There's a lot of digging, of course, and 
when I'm out early, I always feel as if it were "stand- 
to." Only this morning, when I heard a lark singing 
in the meadow just outsidf, I found myself thinking 
of something that happened to me once in the line — 
a queer sort of thing. It'll sound a bit sloppy, I ex- 
pect, to you, but it was one of those funny little things 
— nothing in them, you know — but they get you . . . 
see? . . . 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes? 

Cornelius. It's nothing much really, but once. 



The Ship 47 

when my company was in the line and having a thin 
time, this thing happened. The old Boche was strafing 
hard every two hours, and he did that for three days. 
We knew what was up, of course — he was going to 
raid us, and wanted to frighten the wits out of us first. 
And he did raid us ! It was about half -past two in the 
morning — rotten time to raid anybody — and just be- 
fore he came over, he gave us a terrific barrage. We 
retaliated, and there was a frightful row going on. I 
was standing just in front of a dug-out in a sunken 
road, waiting for the barrage to lift, and i could see 
the Boche stuff going over into a field. It was a jolly 
fine sight, too — old Fritz was very good at artillery, 
jolly good he was — great clouds of golden sparks fly- 
ing about and thick black smoke — I should have en- 
joyed watching it if it had been a bit further off! 
There was an awful row going on — our guns and 
their guns clattering away Hke the deuce — and then 
suddenly it stopped. That sometimes happened— dur- 
ing a bombardment, all the guns would be silent at the 
same time just for a moment or two — awful uncanny 
sort of silence, really. Well, that happened then! A 
fearful banging and exploding all round you, and 
then suddenly, dead silence, just for a moment. And 
in that moment, I heard a lark singing ! You know — 
just going up and . . . singing! Well, I nearly cried. 
It was so decent! . . . 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes, my dear, that's what it 
was — it was decent! 

Cornelius. It kept one going, you know. You 
thought to yourself "Well, everything isn't rotten!" 



48 The Ship 

And then the guns started again, and the row, and after 
a while the barrage Hfted, and the Boche came over in 
a funk, and we were in a worse funk, and there was 
a filthy mess. But I forgot all about the mess some- 
how. I kept on thinking about that lark, singing as 
if there weren't any war. And when I heard the other 
one this morning, I thought of that time I'd listened 
to another lark, and without thinking what I was say- 
ing, I shouted out to him, "Hillo, old chap, at it 
again!" Awfully sloppy, really! . . . 

[The noise of a motor-car is heard outside. 

Janet. There they are. I expect they've got over 
their tyre trouble. Come and be introduced. Captain 
Cornelius. 

Cornelius. Right you are, Mrs. Thurlow! (They 
go out.) 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Captain Cornelius seems a 
nice sort of man. I suppose you and he are very 
good friends. Jack? 

Jack. Yes, we're very good friends. He doesn't 
quite see things from my point of view. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Doesn't he? 

Jack. No. He's always talking about profit. I 
don't mean that he's a money-grubber — he isn't — but 
he thinks of this farm merely as a means of making 
money. 

John. Doesn't everybody do that? 

Jack. I suppose most people do, but I think a man 
ought to put the pleasure he gets out of his work first, 
and the profit second. 

John. What I can't understand about you idealists 



The Ship 49 

and back-to-the-landers is that you always talk like 
cheap society women. Give me pleasure! Give me 
pleasure ! ! Give me pleasure ! ! ! I see no reason why 
a man's job should provide him with entertainment. 
All work, whatever it is, is either a punishment or a 
mania! I build ships because I have a craving to 
build ships. My work gives me pain and power and 
pride, but it doesn't give me pleasure. I get that out 
of golf. 

Jack. I get pleasure out of my work. 

John. So you think ! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Well, dear, if he thinks he 
gets it, that's almost as good as getting it. My ex- 
perience has been that we pay for every moment of 
pleasure with a moment of pain. 

Jack. Isn't that a very dismal doctrine, granny ? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, my dear, because even in 
the pain, we always have some recollection of the 
pleasure. Do you think Captain Cornelius will con- 
tinue to work here. Jack? 

Jack. He can't very well help himself. He hasn't 
any means apart from this farm. 

John. If it hadn't been for your grandmother, he 
wouldn't have been able to come here at all. I haven't 
forgiven you yet, mother, for giving Jack the money 
for this place. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. You were very naughty and 
tyrannical, John. I had to teach you a lesson. I've 
had a lot of trouble with you lately, both about Jack 
and about Hester. 

John. But you got your way, as usual. I don't 



50 The Ship 

mind admitting that, now there's nobody here but 
Jack. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. It's very nice to get your 
way. Very nice! 

Jack. I suppose the "Magnificent" is nearly ready 
for her trial trip, father. 

John. She won't be long now. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Your father's not been at all 
well lately. Jack. Dr. Jordan says he's been working 
too hard. 

John. Oh, Jordan's an old woman. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow (laughing). So am I, dear. 

John. Yes, but not that sort of old woman. The 
kind of old woman I mean is generally a man. I sup- 
pose you never think of coming back to the Yard, 
Jack? 

Jack. No, father. I'm very happy here. 

[Janet followed by Hester, George Nor- 
wood and Cornelius in that order, re- 
turns.] 

Janet. Captain Cornelius has been showing us the 
cows and chickens, and Hester's made George promise 
to buy her a cow when they're married. 

George. I can't think what you want a cow for 
when you've got a motor-car. 

Janet. Oh, I always think a cow's such a nice 
thing to have about the house. 

Hester. Besides we'll be able to have our own but- 
ter and cream and milk. 

George. Yes, but who's going to milk the cow? 
Me, I suppose. 



The Ship 51 

Cornelius. It's not so easy to lose your temper 
with a dairy as it is with a cow. I say, would anyone 
like a tot ? 

[He flourishes the whisky-bottle. General 
murmurs of ''No, thanks/' Everyone, 
except Cornelius, is now seated.] 
Old Mrs. Thurlow. You don't seem very fond 
of farming, Captain Cornelius? 

John. You'd rather be doing bigger work, eh? 
Cornelius. I don't know ! It's not easy to find 
bigger work. If you tell people you fought in the 
War, they use it as evidence against you: They 
think you must be an idiot because you didn't get a 
soft job in a Government office. Farming's better 
than nothing, of course. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. I'd like to see over the farm. 
Won't you show it to me, Jack? 

Jack. Certainly, granny! (Offering his arm to 
her.) You will all come, won't you? 

Hester. Rather! Come along, George. (Hester 
and George go out.) 
Jack. Corney, will you bring mother? 
Cornelius. I'd love to. 

[Old Mrs. Thurlow and Jack go out. 

John. Janet, you go along with Jack. I've changed 

my mind, Cornelius — I will have a tot of that whisky. 

You and I'll have one together, eh? We'll catch you 

up, Janet. 

Cornelius. Oh, but Mrs. Thurlow! . . . 
Janet. Don't bother about me. Captain Cornelius. 
I'll be quite all right with the others. (Exit.) 



52 The Ship 

[Cornelius fetches the whisky-bottle to the 
table where John Thurlow is now sit- 
ting with his back to the door and win- 
dows.] 
Cornelius (pouring out the whisky). Say when, 
sir! 

John (when enough has been poured out). 
Thanks ! 

Cornelius. Soda ? 

John. Thank you! (Cornelius pours a little of 
the soda into the glass.) Good heavens, man, it's 
nearly neat! 

Cornelius (holding up the glass and examining 
it). Neat! There's no such thing as neat whisky 
nowadays ! If you have any more soda, it'll taste 
like buttermilk. 

John. Well, I like buttermilk. Fill it up! 

[Cornelius does so, and then pours out a 
stiff whisky, with very little soda in it, 
for himself.] 
John. You take a pretty stiff glass, Cornelius. 
There's half a tumbler of raw whisky there! 

Cornelius (raising his glass). Here's luck, sir! 
John (raising his). Thank you. Same to you! 

[They drink. Cornelius almost empties 
his glass.] 
John (putting his glass down and taking out his 
pipe). So you're not very keen on farming, Cor- 
nelius? 

Cornelius. No, Vm not keen! . . . 

John. What made you take it up? 

Cornelius. Well, mostly it was Jack. I was in 



The Ship 53 

France when he was there, doing a job, and he talked 
a lot of stuff about leading a natural life that didn't 
interest me very much. I'd had rather more than my 
share of the open-air, and I was looking forward to a 
long, comfortable, fuggy life. But when he began 
to talk about farming — well, I'd done some digging, 
you know, and I thought I might as well do that as 
anything else. 

John. Do you see any prospect of success in this 
business ? 

Cornelius. It depends on what you mean by suc- 
cess. There isn't a great fortune in it, but I daresay 
there's a decent living, once you've got going. Of 
course, it's slow. 

John. Is Jack content with it? 

Cornelius. Oh, quite ! I sometimes think he'd be 
annoyed if it were a financial success. 

John. That's nonsense. He couldn't carry on if 
it didn't pay. 

Cornelius. No, I know that. But he'll be content 
so long as he can keep himself out of it. Jack's very 
clever, of course, but he hasn't any common sense. 
I've seen fellows like him in the War. They nearly 
always got a posthumous V. C. If they didn't get the 
Victoria Cross, they were dead certain to get the 
wooden one. I've no ambition of that sort. All I 
want is a reasonably decent time. I don't want to in- 
fluence anybody or to improve anyone's mind, the way 
Jack does, and I don't want a terrific amount of re- 
sponsibility. I just want a good time. That's all. It 
isn't much! 

John. What do you mean by a good time? 



54 The Ship 

Cornelius. Well, enough money not to have to 
bother about things, and not too much work. (Fin- 
ishes his whisky.) Have another, sir? 

John. No, thanks! I haven't finished this. But 
don't let me prevent you from having one. (Cor- 
nelius helps himself to a second glass of whisky.) 
You'll have trouble in getting a job where there's 
plenty of money and little work. 

Cornelius. Yes, I've noticed that. 

John. H'm! And you don't see any likelihood of 
getting a reasonably decent time on this farm, eh? 

Cornelius. As far as I can see, I'm in for a lot 
of work and very little money. I asked Jack, just be- 
fore you came, when he thought we'd begin to make 
a profit, and he said we might clear our expenses by 
the end of the year. That's damned encouraging, 
isn't it? 

John. Aren't you a bit indiscreet in telling people 
you want a soft job? 

Cornelius. I suppose I am, but I'm not going to 
make any pretence about it. Anyhow, you can't give 
me a soft job, so there's no good my trying to humbug 
you. I couldn't build a ship to save my life. Was 
Jack any good at it? 

John. He was pretty good, as far as he'd gone. 

Cornelius. Mind you, Mr. Thurlow, I don't advo- 
cate soft jobs for everybody. No ! Only for people 
who went to the War. That's all ! You see, we 
chaps had our experience of life crowded into less 
time than most people. See? (He is now slightly 
drunk.) It took you about twenty-five years to learn 



The Ship 55 

what we had to learn in four years. See ? Well, there 
ought to be some compensation for that, oughtn't 
there? And I think the compensation should be a 
good time. That's what I'm out for, as comfortable 
and easy a time as possible. A cushy life — that's what 
I want. 

John (rather outraged by this). That's not a 
very noble attitude. Captain Cornelius. 

Cornelius. I know it's not. I've given up being 
noble. When 1 went out to France first, my head 
was stuffed with noble sentiments. Didn't take me 
long to get rid of 'em when I got there. Do you know, 
I read ''Henry the Fifth" before I went out — you know, 
Shakespeare— and I swallowed all that rot about "We 
few, we happy few, we band of brothers." (Drinks.) 
I expected to find everybody full of Christian charity 
— except the old Boche, of course! I hadn't been 
there five minutes before I found there was as much 
intrigue at the Front as there was in England. Every- 
body trying to get everybody else's job, except the 
fools like Jack, who got all the dirty and dangerous 
work to do. Do you know what the private soldier's 
opinion of human nature is, sir? 

John. No. What is it? 

Cornelius. **I'm all right. To hell with you!" 
That's about it, don't you think? Barring the fools, 
of course. 

John. Is that your view? 

Cornelius. It is now, but it wasn't always my 
view. 

John. H'm! (He sits back in his chair and 



56 The Ship 

contemplates Cornelius who finishes his whisky.) 

Cornelius. Shall we go and join the others? 

John. In a minute or two. (Leaning forward with 
his arms resting on the table. Both men are sitting 
with their hacks to the door and windows.) Has Jack 
ever spoken to you about the shipyard? 

Cornelius. Oh, yes, he's talked a lot about it. He's 
got some damned funny opinions about machinery, old 
Jack! 

John. Listen to me, Cornelius ! I want him back 
in the Yard. I've no belief in this tomfoolery of a 
farm, but even if I had, I want him back. My rea- 
sons are more easily felt than explained, and anyhow 
they don't particularly matter to you. I want him 
back. That's the main point. You're tired of this 
business. That's so, isn't it? 

Cornelius. Yes, that's quite right. 

John. Well, now, I'm prepared to make a bargain 
with you. If this farm is a failure, Jack'U come 
back to the Yard. I know him! He can't stand up 
to a failure. He must have success. 

Cornelius. But it won't fail. 

John. It can be made to* fail. 

[Jack Thurlow comes to the doorway as 
John says this. He stops and listens, 
unperceived.] 

Cornelius. What do you mean? 

John. It can be made to fail. If you'll make it 
fail, I'll give you a thousand pounds. 

Cornelius. What ? 



The Ship 57 

John. I'll give you a thousand pounds if you make 
this farm fail within the next twelve months. 

Cornelius. My dear Mr. Thurlow, I'm pretty far 
gone, I know, but not quite so far gone as that. Let- 
ting a pal down — oh, my dear sir! . . . 

John. You won't be letting him down. You'll be 
doing him a good turn — curing him of a romantic de- 
lusion — and bringing him back to his proper place. 

Cornelius. I daresay you could find a good excuse, 
Mr. Thurlow, for your share in the business, but I 
shouldn't be able to find one for mine. Oh, no ! 

John. A thousand pounds — that's a pretty good 
excuse, isn't it, for a man who wants an easy time and 
plenty of money? 

Cornelius. A thousand pounds is very nice, but 
damn it . . . oh, no, no! 

John. Well, I'll give you five hundred if you'll 
clear out at once and leave Jack on his own. 

Cornelius. Five hundred! 

John. Yes. That involves you in nothing that you 
aren't already willing to do. A thousand if you'll 
stay and ruin the farm: five hundred if you'll clear 
out at once and leave Jack to ruin it himself. 

Jack (from the door). Well, Corney, what are 
you going to do? 

[John Thurlow and Cornelius start up, 
the latter unsteadily.^ 

Cornelius. I didn't know you were there, old 
chap. 

Jack. I came back to fetch you both, and overheard 



58 The Ship 

father's generous offer. What are you going to do, 
Corney? Father's waiting for your answer. 

Cornelius. I think I'll take the five hundred, Mr. 
Thurlow ! That's not playing low, Jack ! As a matter 
of fact, old chap, if I was to stay on here, I'd really 
be entitled to the thousand. I'm sure I'd ruin you. 

Jack. You said you'd stand by me ! . . . 

Cornelius. Yes, I know I did, and I'd like to, but 
really. Jack, I hate the whole damned business. I 
ought to have married a girl who could keep me in the 
style I'm accustomed to. You'd much better go back 
to your father's business! ... 

Jack. No ! No ! Whatever else I do, I won't do 
that. It isn't very honourable, father, to tempt my 
friend to betray me ! . . . 

Cornelius. Oh, I say. Jack! . . . 

Jack. Didn't he offer you a thousand pounds to 
make the farm fail so that I might go cringing back 
to him? 

Cornelius. He didn't mean that. 

John. Oh, yes, I did. If I want a thing, I want 
it. That's all ! I want my son back in my Yard, and 
if I have to starve him into returning, then I'll starve 
him! 

Cornelius. Well, of course, that a point of view, 
but it seems a damned silly one to me. 

John. Perhaps, but it's my point of view, and 
that's good enough for me. When I look at you two 
young men, I wonder to myself what's to become of 
this world. {To Cornelius.) You care for nothing 
but what you call a good time. Easy eating, easy 
drinking, easy everything, and no responsibility. 



The Ship 59 

Cornelius (as if considering this statement). 
Yes, I think that's a very fair statement of what I 
want. 

John. Your flippancy, Captain Cornelius, may 
amuse fools, but it won't carry you very far. 

Cornelius. Mr. Thurlow, will you believe that I'm 
perfectly serious when I say I don't care where it 
carries me? Do you think I haven't thought about 
life, just as much as you and Jack here? (With a 
sudden and startling burst of passion.) My God, man, 
don't you realise what men like me have been through ? 
. . . (He recovers himself.) I say, I'm awfully sorry! 
I must be drunk. I didn't mean to break out on you 
like that, Mr. Thurlow, but all the same, it's quite 
true — I don't care a damn about anything. 

John. That'll do the world a lot of good! 

Cornelius. I don't care. I take no interest in the 
world. If it's going to blazes, well, let it go. I don't 
care ! The only thing I want at this minute is the five 
hundred quid you're going to give me, and as soon as 
I get it, I'll go off and have a thumping good time 
while it lasts. See? Sorry, Jack! Sorry, old chap, 
but this noble Hfe of yours — nothing in it. . . . Do 
you know I believe I am drunk! I'm talking like a 
poHtician, so I must be drunk! Do you mind, Mr. 
Thurlow, letting me have that cheque, and then I'll 
just go and have a sleep. 

John. I'll send it to you. 

Cornelius. You write it out now and give it to 
Jack. He's straight. He's a fool, too, but he's straight. 
He wouldn't be straight if he weren't a fool. I think 
I'll go and have a sleep now. (He goes towards the 



6o The Ship 

door, hut pauses half-way and turns towards them.) 
Do you know, I lie awake at night hoping there's a 
heaven, so that chaps Hke Jack may get some reward ? 
You think that out! (He staggers towards the door, 
turning to John Thurlow.) Did you say five hun- 
dred pounds or guineas ? 

John. Pounds! 

Cornelius. Guineas would be better, but still . . . 
pounds! (He goes off.) 

Jack. Your machine-civilisation, father, made him 
like that. 

John. Don't be childish ! 

Jack. And then you corrie here and make him 
drunk and tempt him to betray me! . . . Oh, father, 
Fm disappointed in you! . . . 

[He sits down in dejection at the table, zuhile 
his father goes towards the door leading 
to the garden.] 

John. I've done nothing I'm ashamed of. (At 
the door.) Here's your grandmother! (Coming hur- 
riedly to the table.) Jack, don't tell her about the 
thousand pounds. 

Jack. I thought you weren't ashamed, father! 

John. I'm not, but I don't want her to know that! 
[Old Mrs. Thurlow enters. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. John, dear, we're all waiting 
for you. Why, what's the matter? 

John. Oh, the usual argument, mother. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Where's Captain Cornelius? 

John. He's tired, and he's gone to lie down for a 
while. 



The Ship 6i 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. I'm afraid you're not telling 
the truth, John. I suspected there might be trouble 
here, so I came myself instead of letting the others 
come. What's the matter, Jack? 

Jack. Ask father, granny. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. John? 

John. It's nothing, mother. Let's go home. I 
ought not to have come here. I'm not well, and Jack 
and I are hopelessly out of sympathy with each other. 
I shan't trouble you again. Jack ! . . . 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. One minute, John! (Sitting 
down.) I want to know wha>t*s happened. 

John. Nothing of any consequence, mother. Let's 
go home. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Jack? (Jack turns away, 
without answering.) Jack, my dear, I'm speaking tO' 
you. Don't you hear me? 

Jack. I can't tell you, granny. Father must do 
that. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. John, have you been doing 
something of which Jack's ashamed? 

John. I've done nothing that any father'd be 
ashamed of! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. That's not my question, John ! 
Have you done anything of which your son is 
ashamed ? 

John. Jack's sentimentality may make him think 
so! . . . 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Then you did do some- 
thing? 

JoHiJ (grudgingly). Yes. 



62 The Ship 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. What was it? 

John. I . . . well, I offered Cornelius five hun- 
dred pounds if he'd clear out of this and leave Jack 
on his own. I thought then he wouldn't be able to 
carry on the farm and he'd have to come back to the 
Yard. Jack heard me making the offer, and there was, 
a row. Cornelius is drunk. He's in there sleeping 
it off. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Was that all you did ? 

John (zuith a slight hesitation) , Yes, mother. 

Old'Mrs. Thurlow. Is that all. Jack? 

John. Don't you believe me, mother? 

Old' Mrs. Thurlow. No, dear ! Is that all your 
father did, Jack? 

Jack (catching a look of appeal from his father). 
Yes, granny. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. All those fierce looks for 
that! Oh, my dear! (She gets up and goes to him.) 

Jack (almost breaking down). Granny, I'm fright- 
fully unhappy ! . . . 

Old Mrs. Thurlow (embracing him as if he were 
a child) . Poor Jack ! You do so want to be a great 
man and to assert yourself, don't you? Well, well, 
you must be allowed to have your way until you get 
tired of it. Come, come, make up your quarrel with 
your father. And you, John, try nofto be so impatient 
and domineering. You've behaved very stupidly. I 
can't turn my back for a moment but you're blunder- 
ing. You'll have to let Jack work this out for himself. 
It's no good trying to force him. Come, Jack! (She 
tries to lead him to his father.) 



The Ship 63 

Jack (resisting her). No, granny, I can't . . . not 
yet! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. My dear, you're being very 
obstinate. You're almost as bad as your father. I 
don't approve of what he did, but it hardly deserves so 
much condemnation as this. I suppose you didn't do 
anything else, John? 

John. No, mother. I've told you I didn't. Cor- 
nelius told me he was tired of the farm, but couldn't 
give it up because he hadn't any money, and so I 
offered him five hundred to clear out ! . . . 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Five hundred pounds seems 
a lot of money to give a man for doing what he wants 
to do. 

John. You know that I'd pay anything to get Jack 
back again. 

[The door opens and Cornelius enters. 

Cornelius (to John). I say, couldn't you split 
the difference between a thousand and five hundred! 
. . . (Seeing Old Mrs. Thurlow.) Oh, I beg your 
pardon! I didn't see you, Mrs. Thurlow! I'll come 
back later. (He turns to go.) 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Captain Cornelius! 

Cornelius (turning to her again). Yes, Mrs. 
Thurlow ! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Come here! 

Cornelius. It's awfully kind of you, Mrs. Thur- 
low, but — well, to tell you the truth I'm not really in 
a fit condition to 'sociate with ladies, so if you'll ex- 
cuse me! . . . 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. I think I can bear your 



64 The Ship 

society, Captain Cornelius, whatever your condition 
may be. 

Cornelius. Well, that's awfully nice of you, but 
really. . . . 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Sit down, please. 

Cornelius. But the others aren't sitting down. {To 
John and Jack, appealingly.) I say, is there a strafe 
on? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow {indicating a chair). Sit here, 
Captain Cornelius, beside me. {She sits down.) 

Cornelius. Thanks awfully ! {He sits down.) I 
say, won't you other chaps sit down? The solemn 
way you're all standing about makes me feel as if I 
were being court-martialled. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Don't trouble about them, 
Captain Cornelius. Just listen to me! 

Cornelius. Very good, Mrs. Thurlow ! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. My son made an offer of 
money to you. 

Cornelius. Yes. Yes, that's quite right — he did! 
He offered me . . . 

Jack {interrupting him). Five hundred pounds to 
clear out of this and leave me on my own. And you 
wanted a thousand ! 

Cornelius. A thousand, yes. Yes, I wanted a 
thousand! But wait a minute — that isn't quite . . . 
I'm awfully sorry, Mrs. Thurlow, but I'm not really 
myself, you know. What are we talking about? 

Jack. Father offered you five hundred pounds to 
chuck the farm, and you wanted a thousand. That's 
all! 



The Ship 65 

Cornelius (bewildered) . That's not right, is it? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Then what is right? 

Jack. I overheard the offer, granny. There isn't 
anything else. 

Cornelius {rising and staggering towards Jack). 
But . . . 

Jack (very emphatically). You wanted a thousand 
to clear out, and father wouldn't pay more than five 
hundred. That's all. 

Cornelius. Yes, that's right, Jack. That's quite 
right! I thought perhaps he'd split the difference. 
{Turning to Old Mrs. Thurlow.) That's quite right, 
Mrs. Thurlow ! I'm sorry I interrupted little family 
discussion! Very sorry! . . . {He staggers out 
again). 

John. Come, mother ! We'd better go. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. I don't like to see you parting 
like this ! The whole thing seems so queer ! Aren't 
you going to give us any tea, Jack? 

Jack. Yes, granny, I want to, but . . . 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Aren't you being very hard 
on your father, dear? 

Jack. I'm sorry, granny! 

John. I think we'd better not stay, mother. We 
can get tea on the way back. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. But the others — won't they 
think it odd ? 

John. We can make some excuse. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Very well. I'm sorry our 
excursion has ended like this. I don't quite under- 
stand ! I thought you'd done something serious, John, 



66 The Ship 

but ... I hoped you'd feel a little more charitable, 
Jack. I'm very disappointed . . . 

[Janet and Hester and George enter, 

Janet. Aren't you coming to see the farm? 

John. No, we're going home. 

Janet. Going home ! Already ! 

Hester. We've only just come, father. 

John. We're going home, my dear. Jack and I 
have had a disagreement, and we're going home. 
George, you and Hester go on ahead, will you? 

George. Very good, sir. (Going to Jack.) Good- 
bye, Jack, old chap ! 

Jack (shaking hands with him). Good-bye, 
George. 

George. Come on, Hester! (He goes out.) 

Hester. But I don't want to go yet ! 

John. Do as you're told. 

Hester (after a moment's hesitation). Good-bye, 
Jack. (She kisses him.) 

Jack. Good-bye, Hester ! 

Hester. I'll come and see you again soon. I think 
it's a very nice farm. (Exit.) 

Janet. What's happened? 

John. Nothing. Come along, mother! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. I'll come in a moment. 

[John Thurlow turns to Janet, indicating 
that she should go before him.] 

Janet. But Jack — I want Jack I . . . 

[Thurlow puts her arm in his and leads her 
out. Old Mrs. Thurlow goes to Jack, 
and puts her hand on his shoulder.] 



The Ship 67 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Was that really all, Jack? 
Jack. Yes, granny! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Such a pity — such a pity! 
(She kisses him.) 

Jack (holding her to him). Granny, I'm not really 
uncharitable ! . . . 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Aren't you, dear? 
Jack. No. Only! . . . Oh, well! (He turns 
away from her.) 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Good-bye, my dear! 
Jack. Good-bye, granny! 

[She goes towards the door. She stops for 
a moment, as if thinking, but does not 
turn back. Then she goes out. 

Jack stands still until he hears the 
sound of the motors moving off. Then 
he goes to the door and looks after 
them.] 



ACT THREE 



THE THIRD ACT 

Scene I 

The scene is the same as that of the first act, but the 
time is three months later than the second act, in 
the early summer, and the afternoon sunshine 
pouring through the open windows makes the 
room look very attractive, particularly as the eye 
rests here and there on bowls of flowers plucked 
that morning. Old Mrs. Thurlow is sitting 
alone, just out of the sunlight, but zveil within 
sight of the garden. She is reading at random 
in a book of verse by Edmund Waller, and as the 
scene begins she finds this poem, entitled ''On the 
Picture of a Fair Youth, taken after he was dead," 
which she reads aloud: 

Old Mrs. Thurlow {reading). 
As gathered flowers, while their wounds are new, 
Look gay and fresh, as on the stalk they grew; 
Torn from the root that nourished them, awhile 
(Not taking notice of their fate) they smile, 
And, in the hand which rudely plucked them, show 
Fairer than those that to their autumn grow ; 
So love and beauty still that visage grace ; 
Death cannot fright them from their wonted place. 

71 



72 The Ship 



Alive, the hand of crooked Age had marred 

Those lovely features, which cold death has spared 

[She puts down the book, and turns to a bowl 
of Homers which she draws towards her. 
She touches them very gently, and mur- 
murs a line or two from Waller's poem. 
Quoting.] 
And, in the hand which rudely plucked them, show 
Fairer than those that to their autumn grow. 

[The door opens and Jack Thurlow enters. 
He wears the clothes in which zve saw 
him in the second act. Old Mrs. Thur- 
low rises eagerly to greet him.] 
Old Mrs. Thurlow. Jack, dear, I'm so glad youVe 
come. 

Jack (kissing her). Is he very ill? 
Old Mrs. Thurlow. He's ill, of course, but he's 
more troubled than ill. Dr. Jordan has forbidden him 
to go on the "Magnificent's" maiden trip ! . . . 
Jack. Good heavens! He must be pretty bad! 
Old Mrs. Thurlow. It's a terrible blow for him. 
He's so proud of the "Magnificent," and this coming 
on top of your desertion ! . . . 
Jack. Desertion, granny! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. That's how he feels about it. 
Jack. He doesn't say much, but I know that he broods 
over it. You've never been to the Yard once since 
the boat was launched. That hurts his pride, my dear ! 
You take no interest in his greatest achievement, and 
you're his only son. You've not been here since that 
Sunday we went to see your farm. 
Jack. I know! 



The Ship 73 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. It seems a little stubborn of 
you, Jack! I didn't realise that you were so hard. I 
thought that when Hester and George got married your 
father'd feel less grieved about you, but I'm afraid he 
doesn't. 

Jack. Granny, you believe me, don't you, when I 
say that I love my father? . . . 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes, dear, I do. 

Jack. I'd gladly do anything in my power for him, 
but I can't do this. It's against everything that I be- 
lieve and feel, and when I think sometimes of going 
back to the Yard, because I know he wants me to, 
something inside me tells me I shall betray myself if 
I go. Father can't see my point of view — won't see 
it. Well, that can't be helped ! I'm sorry, but it can't 
be helped. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Has Captain Cornelius left 
you? 

Jack. Yes, he's gone to Australia. I thought I 
should miss him more than I do, but I've managed to 
get on fairly well without him. I think my farm's 
going to be a success. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. I hope so, dear. 

Jack (picking up her book). What are you read- 
ing, granny? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Some of Edmund Waller's 
poetry, Jack. A very charming poet — a little artificial, 
perhaps, but very charming. 

Jack. I don't read poetry. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, dear! Fve often noticed 
that farmers seldom do. I'm rather anxious about you, 
Jack. 



74 The Ship 

Jack. About me? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes, rm wondering whether 
you'll always be a prig! 

Jack. A prig! Me! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. I like to think of young men 
being very self-opinionated and revolutionary. They 
ought to be saying wild things when they're twenty- 
one, but I don't think they ought to be saying them 
when they're thirty, and I'm sure they oughtn't to be 
saying them when they're forty. What I'm sometimes 
afraid of is that you'll still be saying when you're 
middle-aged the things which were quite right for you 
to be saying when you were a boy — and you know, 
Jack, things which sound very clever at twenty-one 
sound very silly at forty. 

Jack. I'm not trying to be clever, granny. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Well, then, there's hope for 
you, dear! I don't think anyone has a right to be a 
clever young man after the age of thirty. 

Jack. Why does father want to see me? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. It's about the "Magnifi- 
cent" ! 

Jack (impatiently). Oh, what's the use, granny! 
I may be a prig and a fool and all the things you say 
I am ... 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, no, dear, I didn't say you 
were a prig or a fool. I only said I hoped you wouldn't 
be either the one or the other. 

Jack. Well, if I am, I am. I can't help it. And 
it's perfectly useless for father to try to persuade me 
to go back to the Yard. I won't go. 



The Ship 75 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. That isn't why your father 
sent for you, Jack. 

Jack. Oh! Then why did he send for me? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. He seems reconciled to the 
fact that you won't return to the Yard — at least he 
talks now as if he were! . . . (The door opens and 
Janet enters.) Oh, here's your mother! 

Janet (going to Jack and embracing him). Jack, 
dear, your father's coming down. Promise me you'll 
do what he wants ! 

Jack. I must know what it is first. 

Janet. Oh, why do you always expect your father 
to explain things to you ! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. He wants you to take his 
place on the "Magnificent" . . . 

Janet (interrupting). Yes, dear, on her maiden 
trip. He's been forbidden to go himself. Dr. Jor- 
dan's very arbitrary, but of course he's a specialist, 
and if he weren't arbitrary nobody would believe he 
was a specialist! . . . 

[The door opens and John Thurlow, wear- 
ing a dressing-gown and bedroom slip- 
pers, enters. He has a graver and more 
haggard look than when we last saw 
him.] 

John. That you. Jack? 

Jack. Yes, father! 

John (sitting down). Feeling all right? 

Jack. Yes, thank you. I'm sorry you're not well, 
father ! 

John (with nervotis irritability). Yes, yes, yes! 



76 The Ship 

. . . {Recovering himself.) Has your grandmother 
told you what I want you to do? 

Jack. Partly, father, but I don't quite understand. 
You want me to go on the "Magnificent" ! . . . 

John. Yes — in my place. My illness has been a 
bitter disappointment to me, Jack — one of the worst 
blows I've ever had. I'd set my heart on going on 
the "Magnificent's" maiden trip, but Jordan's abso- 
lutely forbidden it. Overwork, he says! Nervous 
breakdown! . . . Everybody who's had anything to 
do with her will be there — except me, the man who 
made her! . . . You don't realise how I've imagined 
her sailing up New York Harbour, with all the other 
ships sounding their syrens to welcome her. I've seen 
myself — oh, a thousand times I've seen myself on the 
bridge beside the captain, taking my ship to her berth ! 
. . . And Jordan says I can't go, I mustn't go! . . . 
{His weakened nerves almost cause him to break 
down, hut after a moment of emotion, he recovers him- 
self.) Oh, well, it can't be helped, can it? I'm dis- 
appointed, but . . . {He makes a gesture of resigna- 
tion.) It can't be helped! But if I don't go there 
won't be a Thurlow on board ! You see, Jack ? There 
won't be a Thurlow on board! That doesn't seem 
right, does it? I ought to be there, but if I'm not 
allowed to go, someone of my name ought to go, don't 
you think? So I sent for you, Jack. I want you to 
take my place. That's all! I won't ask you to come 
back to the Yard — though God knows I'd give anything 
to have you there. All I ask of you is that you'll 
gratify me to this extent. You and I are the only 
Thurlows left! . . . 



The Ship 77 

Janet. Oh, John, there's granny and Hester . . . 
and me! . . . 

John. Fm talking about men — not women! (To 
Jack.) If you don't go. Jack, I'll either have to go 
myself . . . 

Janet. You can't, dear! 

John (ignoring the interruption). Or else the 
"Magnificent" will take her maiden trip without a 
Thurlow on board. 

Jack. Would that matter, father? 

John. Matter! . . . My best boat to go out for 
the first time, and none of us on board ! You must 
see that wouldn't be right. 

Jack. Can't George go ? He's one of us now. 

John. No, he's not. Hester's one of his family! 
That's what's happened to her! You'll go, won't you, 
Jack? 

Jack. How long shall I be away? 

John. Not more than a fortnight — ^three weeks at 
the outside. 

Jack. Three weeks ! Oh, I can't, father ! 

John. Why — why can't you? 

Jack. I can't leave my farm at this time of the 
year for three weeks! . . . 

John (losing control of himself). Damn your 
farm ! What does it matter ? 

Jack. It matters a great deal to me, father ! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. John, dear. Jack's farm is 
just as important to him as your shipyard is to you. 
I think you ought to make allowance for that. 

John. Is he making any allowance for me? 

Jack. I can't see why it's so important for a Thur- 



78 The Ship 

low, to be on board. She won't sail any the better for 
that. 

John. That's the trouble with you ! You've never 
been able to see anything but what you wanted to see. 

Jack. I'm certainly not going to run the risk of 
ruining my farm for a piece of sentimentality. That's 
all it is, father. Sentimentality! 

John. Does that make it any the less real? Do 
you think that sentimentality, as you call it, doesn't 
move a man's heart just as strongly as anything else? 
My God, I wish I weren't sick! I wouldn't go, hat 
in hand to you, my boy . . . not for anything . . . 
not for anything! And then I'm refused because 
you've got to make hay or feed your damned chickens. 
Ha ! That's more important than my ship ! 

Janet. Why don't you do something that your 
father asks you. Jack? You seem always to be op- 
posing him. 

John. Yes, my own son — I daren't ask him to do 
anything for me because he's certain to refuse! 
Strangers! Oh, yes, they'll do things for me — glad 
to do them. George Norwood would give his soul for 
me. But my own son . . . my only son ... oh, no, 
I mustn't expect him to do anything at all — except 
refuse me everything I ask. 

Jack. You always assume that what I'm doing 
doesn't matter. Your whims are more important than 
my work. I won't go, father ! 

John (with bitter sarcasm). Ha! My only son! 

Jack. You've done your best to spoil my farm. It 
isn't any thanks to you that I've kept my end up. I 



The Ship 79 

haven't forgotten all that happened when you came to 
see me ! That cancelled a good deal of my obligation 
to you. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Because your father offered 
Captain Cornelius money to do what he'd already made 
up his mind to do? Because of that, Jack? 

Jack (after a moment's hesitation). Yes, granny! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. My dear, you're . . . vindic- 
tive! 

John. That isn't all, mother! I asked him not to 
tell you, but I don't know that it matters very much. 
I'm not ashamed of it! . . . 

Jack. There's no need, father! . . , 

John (to his mother). I offered Cornelius a thou- 
sand pounds if he'd make the farm fail — so that I 
could get Jack back to the Yard. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yo\i tried to bribe Captain 
Cornelius to ruin Jack's farm? 

John. Yes. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. But you said ... Jack, you 
said . . . 

John. I asked him not to tell you. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Oh, John, that was mean of 
you . . . mean! 

John. I'm not ashamed of what I did. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Then why did you ask him 
not to tell me? 

John. Because I knew you wouldn't like it, and I 
didn't want to hurt you. I've often not done a thing 
— or kept it from you — not because I thought it was 
wrong — I didn't — but because I knew you'd think it 



8o The Ship 

was wrong, and I didn't want to hurt you. Every- 
body does things hke that! That's moraHty . . . 
hiding things that you don't think are wrong from 
people who do think they're wrong! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow {going to Jack). Oh, and I've 
misjudged you so, my dear! 

Jack. It's all right, granny. I knew you didn't 
understand. 

[He leads her hack to her seat. 

John. You won't take my place on the ''Magnifi- 
cent," Jack? 

Jack. No, father. I'd be willing to do so if it were 
important, but it isn't ! 

John. Isn't it horrible to have a son who belittles 
everything that matters to you! 

Janet. You'd better let George and Hester go, 
John! 

John. No, no! It must be either Jack or me ! And 
since he won't go, well, I will ! 

Janet. But Dr. Jordan says you mustn't go. 

John. I don't care what Jordan says. Jack thinks 
this wish of mine is just silly sentiment. Well, men 
have died for silly sentiment, haven't they? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Don't be stupid, John! 

John. Mother, you know me ! I swear that I'll go 
on the "Magnificent," even if I'm carried on to her, 
unless Jack takes my place. Now, Master Jack, what's 
your answer to that ? 

Janet. You'll die, if you go. 

John. Well, I can die then — on my ship ! 

[There is a slight pause. 



The Ship 8i 

Jack. All right, father ! I'll go ! 

John. You'll go ! . . . 

Jack. Yes. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow (going to him). My dear, 
that's very fine of you! {To her son.) You don't de- 
serve it, John. 

John. Thank you, Jack. (To his mother.) I may 
not deserve it, mother, but I'm very grateful ! . . . 

Janet. But what about the farm ? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Can't we get someone to look 
after it for you, Jack, while you're away? 

John. Yes, we can do that. I'll pay — whatever 
it is. 

Jack. I don't want you to pay, father. I'll manage 
my own farm. 

John. Very well, my boy. I can't tell you how glad 
I am! . . . 

Jack. There's no need to tell me. I'm not going 
because I want to, but because you've forced me. 
When am I to be ready? 

John. She sails on Tuesday. 

Jack. That gives me two days. 

[He goes towards the door. 

Janet. Aren't you going to stay to dinner, Jack ? 

Jack. No, thanks, mother! I want to go home! 
(Exit.) 

Janet (hurrying after him). I can't let him go like 
that! 

[Old Mrs. Thurlow is back in the seat 
where we saw her at the beginning of 
the scene. She has picked up the volume 



82 The Ship 

of Waller^s verses and is reading it 
aloud. Her son sits at the table, vaguely 
listening. ] 

Old Mrs. Thurlow (reading.) 
As gathered flowers, while their wounds are new, 
Look gay and fresh, as on the stalk they grew ; 
Torn from the root that nourished them, awhile 
(Not taking notice of their fate) they smile, 
And, in the hand which rudely plucked them, show 
Fairer than those that to their autumn grow ; 
So love and beauty still that visage grace ; 
Death cannot fright them from their wonted place. 
Alive, the hand of crooked Age had marred 
Those lovely features, which cold death has spared. . . . 

John (interrupting her). What's that, mother? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow (quoting) . . . the hand of 
crooked Age had marred Those lovely features! . . . 
Just a poem, my dear! I wonder if we old people are 
ever quite fair to the young. 

John. Are they ever fair to us? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Are any of us fair to each 
other ? 

John. I suppose you feel bitter against me, too, 
mother, because I tried to bribe Cornelius? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Bitter, dear? 

John. Yes. You said you were disappointed in 
me. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow (going to him). My dear, I 
don't love you only when you please me. I still love 
you even when you disappoint me. That's what love's 
for. isn't it? 



The Ship 83 

[She turns his face up to hers and kisses 
him.] 



Scene II 

The scene is a corner of the garden of Thurlow's 
country-house five days later. The corner is 
sunny, and John Thurlow often goes there for 
warmth and air. There is a seat, shaded by a 
tree, in the corner, and here, when the curtain 
rises, John Thurlow is sitting. Old Mrs. 
Thurlow comes to him from the house which 
cannot he seen. 

John {anxiously). Well, mother? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Nothing yet, dear. {She sits 
down beside him.) 

John. Damn George! What's he thinking about? 
He knows I'm all pins and needles for the latest mes- 
sages. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. My dear, you mustn't get so 
excited. George probably has some very good reason 
for not telephoning this morning. You had all the 
messages up to yesterday evening! . . . 

John. Yes, yes, I know, mother. I'm sorry, but 
I'm so jumpy. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. You're very pleased, aren't 
you, with her record so far? 

John {with pleasure). Yes, I am. She's been won- 
derful. Wonderful ! Three days out now ! She must 
be nearly there. I can imagine her presently sighting 



84 The Ship 

Nantucket, and all the passengers looking eagerly for 
the flat American coast. I wish I were there! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Well, dear, you've almost 
been there, what with wireless messages and your own 
imagination. Why, you've almost seen her going 
across ! 

John. Yes, that's true. She's exceeded my hopes, 
mother. It won't be easy to break her record. I 
can't think why George doesn't send the latest mes- 
sages. It's so funny to be late with them now. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. He's a little anxious about 
Hester. 

John. Anxious about Hester! What's there to be 
anxious about? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Oh, John, dear, don't you 
guess ? 

John. No. {Then as he understands.) Do you 
mean to say . . . 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes, dear. Hester's going to 
have a baby. 

John. How strange that seems! My little Hester! 
. . . We must have her here, mother. The baby ought 
to be born in my house — my grandchild ought to be 
born here. {Turning to her with a laugh.) Do you 
realise that you'll be a great-grandmother? Great- 
grandmother ! You know, you're beginning to get old. 
You'll have to get a little more sedate in your ways, 
mother. (Old Mrs. Thurlow gives a little laugh of 
satisfaction.) And I shall be a grandfather! That 
makes me feel a bit . . . ancient ! I hope to God it's 
a boy. We'll have him in the Yard — a shipbuilder. 



The Ship 85 

ha, ha, like his father! And his grandfather! Eh? 
Where is Hester ? Is she here ? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Don't go to her yet? She's 
with Janet. She came out this morning to tell us. 

John. Janet'll be pleased, — as pleased as I am. It's 
extraordinary, mother; I feel as proud as if I were 
going to be a father instead of just a grandfather. 
How do you account for that ? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. I don't quite know, dear. I 
felt like that about Jack and Hester, but that was 
understandable. A granny has all the pleasures of 
motherhood without any of the pains. I expect I shall 
feel just the same about Hester's Httle child as I felt 
about her— as I felt about you, dear. You are my 
ships, all of you, going out on long, difficult journeys 
to strange places, little ships and big ships that I made, 
that I love. 

John. You're a wonderful old woman, mother ! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Oh, no, I'm not. I'm just 
your mother. That's all. 

John. Yes, but you're different from other men's 
mothers. You're different altogether. I'm sixty-two, 
but somehow you make me feel as if I were still a 
boy. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Do I, dear? And aren't you 
still a boy — with your enthusiasms and your impatience 
and your wanting the impossible. 

John. I've never wanted the impossible. I'm a 
perfectly reasonable man— always have been. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Oh, no, you haven't. I re- 
member when you were a very little boy, John, I lifted 



86 The Ship 

you up in my arms one evening, so that you could see 
the sun set. And as it went down, I said to you, "Now, 
dear, watch ! Going ! Going ! ! Gone ! ! !" And then 
the sun set, and you turned to me, with extraordinary 
confidence, and you said, "Do it again, mammy!" 
John. And did you do it again? 
Old Mrs. Thurlow. I had to pretend I could only 
do it once a day. You've always been rather like that, 
John! 

John {very pleased). Ha, ha, that's a good story, 
that ! Do it again, mammy ! That's good, that ! 

[Old Mrs. Thurlow suddenly rises. 
John. What is it, mother? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. I thought I heard someone! 
. . . I'll go and see ! . . . 

[She goes off, leaving him alone. He rises 
and stretches, and then seats himself 
more comfortably.] 
John (to himself). Fancy my little Hester having 
a baby ! She's only a child herself ! . . . 

[Old Mrs. Thurlow returns. There is a 
look of terrible grief on her face.] 
Old Mrs. Thurlow. John ! John I ! 
John. My God, mother, what's wrong? 
Old Mrs. Thurlow. Oh, John, John ! . . . 
John (going to her). Mother, what's happened? 
[George Norwood, as distraught as Old 
Mrs. Thurlow, enters. Old Mrs. 
Thurlow sits down.] 
George Norwood. Oh, sir ! 

John. What's happened! What in the name of 
God has happened? 



The Ship 87 

George. The boat, sir . . . the "Magnificent" ! . . . 

John. Yes. Yes! What about her? Why didn't 
you send me the wireless messages sooner? 

George. She's gone down, sir ! 

John. Gone down! My ship . . . my ship . . . 
sunk ! 

George. Yes, sir. That's why I couldn't send a 
message to you earlier. There weren't any from the 
ship. She struck an iceberg and went down in twenty 
minutes. We've just got the news from a rescuer. I 
came out at once ! . . . 

John {half -stunned) . My God! . . . My God, 
she's gone down . . . my ship! {He looks about him 
in a dased manner.) Oh, no! No, no. No, no, no, 
NO ! It's not true, it's not true ! She couldn't sink. 
She was unsinkable ! . . . 

[Janet comes in, and the expression on 
her face shows that she has heard the 
news. ] 

Janet. John ! John ! . . . 

John {rising and going to her). It's not true, Janet. 
It can't be true. 

George. It is true, sir. I wish to God it weren't. 

John. Oh, Janet, my ship! 

Janet. John . . . my son! 

John. Jack! Jack? What — what's happened to 
Jack? 

George. I think he's drowned, sir! 

John. Drowned ! 

[Janet, sobbing, turns away from him and 
he stands, as if he zuere stunned, staring 
uncomprehendingly at George, Then he 



88 The Ship 

goes to George and touches him on the 
sleeve. ] 
John. My son! What did you say? 
George. Oh, sir, he's been . . . 
John. Drowned! {He sways a little and puts his 
hand to his eyes.) Oh, my God! . . . my God! 

[He turns to Old Mrs. Thurlow, mumbling 
brokenly, and as she opens her arms to 
him, he falls heavily into them.] 



Scene III 

The scene is the same as that of the first act, several 
hours after the time of the second scene of this 
act. The room is quite dark. Presently the door 
opens, and John Thurlow, in his dressing-gown, 
enters. He switches on one of the lights, and then 
gases about the room until he sees the model of 
the ''Magnificent.^' He goes to it and, with an 
effort, lifts it from its place and carries it to the 
table in the centre of the room, where he puts it 
down. He stands looking at it for a few moments, 
and then, sighing heavily, goes to the long win- 
dows, and pulls back the curtains, admitting the 
moonlight. He opens the windows and goes a 
little way into the garden, but not out of sight of 
the audience, zuhere he remains for a while. Then 
he returns to the room, leaving the windows 
wide open, and sits down at the table where the 
model is. 



The Ship 89 

John (almost fondling the model). What was 
wrong? WJiat was wrong? 

[He listens, almost as if he expected the boat 
to ansiver. Then he gets up and goes 
out of the room. In a few seconds he 
returns, carrying a revolver, which he 
examines, when he has re-seated himself, 
to see whether it is loaded. Evidently he 
is satisfied, for he rises and stands in the 
attitude of a man taking farewell. He 
lifts the revolver and looks at it in a 
fascinated fashion, and then, with an 
effort, raises it towards his head. But 
before he can raise it far, he hears the 
sound of footsteps, and he stops to listen. 
Then he puts the revolver on the table 
and, going swiftly to the switch, turns off 
the light. He comes down again in the 
dark and stands in the shadow. 

The door opens, and Old Mrs. Thur- 
Low, fully clothed, comes in. She stands 
in the doorzmy, through which a beam of 
light comes, and listens. Then she 
speaks.] 
Old Mrs. Thurlow. John! (He does not an- 
swer.) John. 

[She turns on the light and sees him. 
Old Mrs. Thurlow. What's the matter? Why 
didn't you answer? 

John. I want to be alone, mother. Why haven't 
you gone to bed? You're still dressed. 



90 The Ship 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes, dear, Vm still dressed. 
I've been with Janet. What are you doing, John ? 

John. Thinking, mother ! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. You've moved the model. 

John. Yes. I ... I wanted to look at it. I can't 
understand what went wrong. I think and think and 
think! . . . How's Janet? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. She's quieter now. Hester's 
sitting with her. Poor Janet. 

John. Yes . . . poor Janet! You heard what she 
said to me? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Oh, my dear, she didn't know 
what she was saying. (She sits near him.) 

John. She's right, mother. I killed Jack just as 
surely as if I'd stabbed him. I made him go against 
his will. I forced him to . . . to his death ! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow (putting her arms about him 
and drawing him close to her). You mustn't talk like 
that, John ! Why, you're cold, dear ! You're shiver- 
ing! (She looks across the room to the open win- 
dows.) The windows are open. I'll go and shut them. 

John. I'm not cold. 

[He gets up and moves away and as he does 
so, she sees the revolver lying on the 
table. She picks it up.] 

Old Mrs. Thurlow (horrified). John! 

John (turning to her). What is it, mother? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow (holding out the revolver). 
Oh, John, John ! . . . 

[She sits dozvn, the revolver still in her hand, 
unable to speak.] 



The Ship 91 

John. Well, mother, I ... oh, what's the use, 
mother ? I've lost everything, my ship, my son ! . . . 

[He sits down by the model, on the other side 
of the table, from her.] 

John. You saw the last message George brought 
to-night ? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes. 

John. Do you remember what was in it? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. About Jack? 

John. Yes. The message about the man who tried 
to get him to leave the boat. Jack said to him, **My 
father built this ship, and if he were here, he'd go down 
with her. I've taken his place, and I must do what he 
would wish." . . . Oh, my God, my God! 

[He is unable to proceed for a moment or 
tzvo. Then he gets up and goes to the 
windows, and leans against one of them.] 

John. It seems such a little while ago since he was 
here. Five days! And now he's dead, tossing about 
somewhere in the sea. . . . And I made him go. I 
wouldn't listen to him. ... I wouldn't let him have 
his life. ... I took it from him! . . . (Coming back 
to Old Mrs. Thurlow.) Oh, mother, what am I to 
do now? There's nothing left. All I've done is . . . 
useless now. I've failed. Great machines, eating up 
people's lives! That's what Jack said. I couldn't 
understand him! I thought he was foolish! . . . I've 
been wrong, mother ! We've all been wrong. We've 
made men less than machines . . . that's what he said 
. . . and I made him less than my machine . . . this 
ship! . . . (He rests his hands on the model.) I 



92 The Ship 

wonder why we always hunt the young . . . hunt 
them ! . . . 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. John, you've never yielded to 
anything, have you? 

John. No, mother, not if I could help it. 

Old Mrs. Tiiurlow. But you're yielding now. 

John. Yielding? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes. You were wrong about 
Jack, but he was wrong about you. Oh, my dear, if 
you'd only met each other half-way. We old people 
won't let the young live until they're old, too, and then 
it's too late to live. We always behave as if we were 
right and the other people were wrong, but none of us 
are right and none of us are wrong. That's why we 
have to meet each other half-way. Jack and you 
wouldn't do that, John ! . . . 

John. And I took his life from him. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes, but you won't compen- 
sate him by taking your own life. You owe him more 
than that, John. You must pay him for your wrong 
with your right. 

John. How? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Go on with your work! 
That's right. He'd have known it was right if he'd 
lived. You've lost your ship, John. Well, build 
another one. 

John. I can't bring my son back to life. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, you can't do that. But 
you can pass on your work to the next Thurlow. 

John. The next Thurlow ! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes. There'll soon be another 
Thurlow ! I told you this morning about Hester ! . . .,j 



The Ship 93 

John (almost in a whisper). Hester! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. If Hester has a son, he will 
build ships like you. And you'll teach him how to 
build them, John? 

John. My grandson ! 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. You've got to keep Thurlow's 
where you put it until he is ready to take it from you. 
And we won't make the same mistake about him that 
we made about Jack, will we ? Come here, my dear ! 
(She draws him dozun so that he is kneeling beside her 
with his head on her shoulder.) We haven't any 
right to run away, John. We must go on and face 
things ! . . . 

John. You've more courage than any of us, mother. 
You're the real Thurlow — you always want to go on. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Well, it's better to go on, isn't 
it, than to go back? I don't know where we're going 
to, but we've got to go. 

[They are silent for a moment or two. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Won't you go to bed now, 
John? It's very late. 

[He rises to his feet. 

John. Very well, mother. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. You won't leave me, John ? 

John. Leave you, mother? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes. You said I was the real 
Thurlow — always wanting to go on. I don't want to 
go alone, John. You won't leave me? 

John. No, mother. 

Old Mrs. Thurlow (handing the revolver to him). 
Then will you please put this away somewhere and for- 
get about it. 



94 The Ship 

John. You trust me, mother? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes, dear. 

John (kissing her). Good-night. (He goes 
towards the door and then turns to speak to her.) 
Aren't you going to bed ? 

Old Mrs. Thurlow. In a little while. Good-night, 
dear. 

John. Good-night, mother ! 

[He goes out, and she remains for a few 
moments in her seat, without stirring. 
Suddenly she yields to her tears, and for 
a moment or two she abandons herself 
to grief. Then she recovers herself, and 
gets up and goes to the open windows 
and shuts them. But she does not drazv 
the curtains. She stands for a moment 
or two in the moonlight, looking into the 
garden. Then she crosses the room to 
where the switch is and turns out the 
light. She opens the door and goes out 
of the room, shutting the door behind her. 
There is quietness. The play ends.\ 



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